Here Is Gone
by Musik34
Summary: Everything she believed she knew was about to change. The world Brennan thought existed was gone. BBish. Please read and review. Complete.
1. What She Could Have Had

_**Title: **__Here Is Gone_

_**Rating: **T for language and some violence_

_**Summary:**_ _Everything she thought she knew was about to change. Brennan wakes from a two-year coma, and something is very wrong about that._

_**Disclaimer: **If I owned Bones, they'd all be dead by now._

_**AN: **Please read and review, they let me know people are actually reading :) For those reading Far Away From Home, more updates on the horizon._

**Chapter One: What She Could Have Had…**

The Jeffersonian's medico-legal lab walls reverberated, crashes on the roof echoed deafeningly, and a thin layer of plaster dust coated just about everything within a three hundred foot radius of construction…which included the entire area of the lab since the skylights were getting a makeover. And this made one very angry Temperance Brennan.

"Do not knock the tarp, the construction debris will contaminate the evidence," Brennan barked to everyone around her. The thin blue tarp covering the platform and the scientists was not high enough, causing everybody but Hodgins to bend forward. Already, after half an hour, backs were starting to ache and necks were beginning to strain. Hodgins looked at his colleagues and friends, offering a small grin before commenting, "For once, I don't mind looking up at the world."

He received death glares.

Angela offered gently, "Bren…we were given the day off so we wouldn't have to work in this. We can come back tomorrow and continue on the case--"

"People are killed everyday, I'm sure they'll appreciate us not stopping because we have to deal with a building's makeover," Brennan muttered. Angela threw a look at Zach, and he shrugged his shoulders. Because he was already bent forward, the final result made him resemble a turtle. Brennan wordlessly examined the skull of the third John Doe. Two charred bodies were set off to the side, waiting for Brennan's inspection.

There were five more in the morgue.

Brennan's discontent and anger were caused by numerous things. Her article on Ancient Native American burial rites for National Geographic was pulled at the last minute and replaced with four pages of advertisements, the current construction was taking longer than expected, and the grand finale reason that turned Brennan into a ball of nerves was the fact she was staring at the skeletal corpse of a child no older than nine. Within the span of four days, eight children were ruthlessly beaten, stabbed, and burned. Word had spread to the press that one of the worst serial killings in D.C. history was occurring. Day and night, reporters stalked her apartment waiting for comments and updates.

And Brennan wasn't finding any evidence to point to a suspect. Which meant the news crews weren't going to be satisfied, and the killer was still on the loose. As she suspected, in the next few days the Jeffersonian's team and Booth would be berated for working too slowly, making them the so-called 'bad guys' for the public. She couldn't handle any more stress. And she was getting to the point where she couldn't handle identifying another child today.

Normally, she was able to push away the personal aspects of a case. Keep it clinical, don't let emotions rule judgment, she often told herself this and to the assistants that came her way. It made their gruesome job of giving the dead a name easier. Brennan of all people would know how much this seemingly cold approach worked, after examining victims of 9/11, Waco, and mass graves in Guatemala and El Salvador. Even though she didn't want children, kids always made the cases harder.

_That's not the only thing making you miserable…_Brennan closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to block what she feared was the truth. In the pit of her stomach, something made her reluctant to come to work. Everyday, it had been more difficult to stare at mutilated bodies, to temporarily forget the bones she held in her hands were once human beings. She began harboring thoughts, ideas that caused her to doubt what she was doing. Like she had said, people were killed everyday. Was she really making a difference? Human beings did such horrid things to another, and that was something that would never change. Death was her career, and the resilience to know nothing but death and horror was starting to wear away.

She was burning out. And it seemed like it was happening faster with every passing day.

Brennan squinted, trying to concentrate. Above her, a stack of new glass windows toppled over on the roof, causing a shattering and sudden crash. Brennan jumped and swore, "Damn it!" The others cringed and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Excuse me," Brennan muttered. She stepped from under the tarp, suddenly craving fresh air and the need to calm down. Ahead of her the doors opened, and in walked a familiar face. Brennan groaned inwardly as Booth's eyes met hers. He looked worn and haggard, and Brennan knew cases with children struck an inner chord with him. Normally, at a time like this he'd vent to her and she'd try to understand what he was going through. It strengthened their friendship. Right now, though, she needed to get away from anything brooding, corpses, and the racket of construction. She pushed past him wordlessly, offering him an apologetic look. Booth clutched a file in his hand, and before he could protest, Angela coughed loudly from the platform. Sensing the need to leave Brennan alone, he sought answers from Angela.

"What was that about?" His voice, Angela noted, was less tight than previous days. She looked at the file in his hands and asked, "Please tell me that's a lead."

Without missing a beat, Booth answered, "Possibly, but what's wrong with Bones? I wanted to cheer her up with this."

Angela sighed, a pang of concern for her best friend. "She's been having a hard time lately, doing…" she gestured around her and finished softly, "this."

Hodgins joined Angela and added, "Brennan's having the type of bad day you had when you shot the clown head."

Booth threw his hands up and retorted, "Whoa, hold on. It wasn't the day that caused that, it was two years of working with the Squint Squad."

A few tight smiles were produced from the group. Booth shifted his weight from foot to foot, and decided, "I think I should go talk to her, see what's up."

Zach called from behind him, "I thought you valued your life, Agent Booth."

Booth paused and thought that over. For once he agreed with Zach.

* * *

Brennan couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her heart had leapt to her throat when she saw his face, and slammed back down to her feet when she witnessed his next action. Her mouth gaped uselessly as she watched from a distance the heartbreaking scene that played out before her. 

Sully got out of the car, went to the passenger side, and passionately kissed the leggy blonde female in that seat. He himself was tanned, his muscles toned from long hours in the tropical sun. He looked so happy, even though he wasn't due back for another six months. Brennan's mind flashed back to the day Sully asked her to come sail away with him. He had encouraged her to get away from the cold face of death, the bodies, and she had refused. It had been undoubtedly the hardest thing she ever had to decide. That could have been her in that car. Maybe if she went with Sully, she wouldn't have felt this draining, and her heart sure as hell wouldn't be shattering right now. Without realizing it, a tear slipped from her eye. She was rooted to the spot, the sun's rays blaring on her frame. She didn't understand what was happening. _He found someone else. Did you really think he'd wait for you? _Her mind screamed to confront him, to make her presence known, but her legs didn't move. She was staring at the one man who made her feel so real, so alive…and she lost him. Sully broke the kiss and smiled at the woman. Brennan watched as he ran across the street to an ATM, get some cash, strut back to the car, and drive away.

He never even looked at the Jeffersonian.

Only then did her legs move. She swiped her eyes bitterly and numbly made her way back to the Jeffersonian. Sully was what she could have had. Not caring about the why's or how's on Sully's new relationship status, Brennan felt herself closing up. Happiness and a sense of belonging was offered to her, and she threw it all away. Now all that awaited her were bones, and that would never change.

A few feet from the door, she heard a shout. Before she could acknowledge what was happening, a sharp pain erupted in the left side of her skull. She felt herself falling freely…and then everything faded out. Brennan's eyes snapped open, and she sat upright once she felt herself stop floating. The room around her was white and sterile, and machines beeped erratically. She looked down at her body and realized it was in a thin gown, and her arms were attached to I.V.s. She was in a hospital.

"What the hell?" she muttered. She had no idea why she was there. The last thing she remembered was seeing Sully with the Blonde, and that was a few seconds earlier! Pushing away the onslaught of heartbreak and confusion, Brennan calmed herself. She needed to find out why she was sitting in a hospital bed. A nurse suddenly popped her head into the room, and her eyes widened with surprise. Her white wispy hair was scarce on her head, and she waddled when she walked. In a nasally voice, she announced, "Ms. Brennan, you're awake. Dear Lord, let me get the doctor."

"It's Dr. Brennan," she snapped.

Moments later a young doctor came in, a look of disbelief on his young face. "My god, she's moving like's she only slept a few minutes," he murmured. Brennan's confusion returned. The nametag on the doctor read, "T. Sullivan, M.D." Brennan's heart skipped a few beats as she caught the resemblance between the doctor and Sully. _More than a resemblance, did Sully have a twin? _His hair was thick, wavy, and dark. He was about the same height as Sully, and his eyes held a twinkle even if he was upset. Pushing away the startling likeness, Brennan moved as if to get off the bed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave.

Sullivan ran up to her and soothed, "Ms. Brennan, please don't move…my god, you shouldn't be moving at all, this is remarkable. Do you remember anything?"

Brennan grimaced and she reminded him harshly, "It's Dr. Brennan, and no, why the hell am I in the hospital?"

Sullivan looked at her oddly and Brennan exhaled, irritated. "Let me call Booth, or Angela, because you obviously aren't giving me answers…"

Sullivan's face was not hiding his disbelief. In a dazed voice, Sullivan slipped out, "I don't understand, you're acting like nothing has happened…"

"What, what happened?" Brennan demanded. Sullivan hesitated, and Brennan noticed he was clutching her medical file. Ripping it from his grasp and ignoring his protests, Brennan quickly scanned her diagnosis…and didn't understand. The file slipped to the floor as Brennan dropped it, in shock, disbelief, and with the feeling she was in a nightmare.

"That's a lie," she hissed.

Sullivan looked at her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, Ms. Brennan. You've been in a coma for two years."

"No, that's wrong. I'm a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian, I write novels and I work with Special Agent Seeley Booth of the F.B.I, and I swear to you, a minute ago I was standing in the parking lot," Brennan rambled off, her voice rising.

Sullivan moved to calm her, and she pushed him away. He signaled to a different nurse, and she moved to restrain Brennan.

"Call them, call the Jeffersonian," Brennan demanded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the nurse uncap a syringe. Before Brennan could react, the needle was plunged into her arm. Brennan hissed and Sullivan spoke softly, "I know this is hard, but we will give you answers, Ms. Brennan. It's a miracle you're able to move and speak as well as you have already…" Brennan felt herself become heavy, but she wasn't tired. _Muscle relaxant…they wouldn't knock me out of I had been in a coma,_ her mind thought rationally…_except that I wasn't in one to begin with!_

Not being able to resist, Brennan was placed back into a lying position. Her eyes widened when she heard the nurse whisper, "Sully, how do you explain what's going on?"

_Sully?_

"I'm going to find out…do you know of any Jeffersonian?"

"No."

Brennan felt helpless, and fear was beginning to wrap its hand around her core.

_Two years? That's impossible…isn't it? _


	2. Backward

**Chapter Two: Backward**

Brennan was fighting the growing panic, but the fear was beginning to edge out. If she hadn't been given a sedative, she would have sprinted out of the hospital by now. She knew felt as healthy as a horse…_or is it horse healthy? That's something Booth would have said…_She swallowed hard. What if, by some chance she _had _been in a coma? What caused her to lose two years of her life? The last thing she remembered (and that seemed like an hour ago, if that) was turning away from Sully and going back into the Jeffersonian. _Well, you did feel a pain in your head, but that went away as soon as you opened your eyes…_Brennan bit her lower lip. _Sully…_Why the hell was her doctor practically the long-lost identical twin of her previous boyfriend? The more she studied Sullivan, the more confused she became. _The man called himself Sully for Christ's sake, that has to be more than coincidence…and why am I not 'Doctor' Brennan anymore?_ Her mind raced, and the terrifying thought crossed her conscience: _what if my life never happened? What if it's a trick of the mind? _

"It can't be, it can't," she whispered hoarsely. _That has to be wrong. I existed; I still know everything about bones. Booth existed. Angela existed. Everybody did. _Brennan felt herself calm as she mentally reviewed the bones in the human body. _Human hand has the scaphoid, lunate, triquetrous, pisiform, trapezium, trapezoid, capitates…there are 206 bones in a matured skeleton structure, and infants can have up to 350 bones…a broken hyoid bone located in the neck can be signs of strangulation…brittle bone syndrome causes patients to break limbs and ribs easily, fibrous dysphasia causes lesions on the bone structure…no way my life was a figment of my imagination. I know bones like Stephen King knows horror._

She began to feel sure of herself again.

Then Sullivan walked back into the room.

With him were two med students. The nametag for the woman read 'S. Brady' and the man next to her was 'R. Leonzi.' Brady looked fresh out of high school, and her eyes radiated a need to please. She was shorter than the two men by an easy foot. Leonzi's face on the other hand was tight and drawn in. His eyes darted round in his sockets quickly, and Brennan was given the impression of a weasel. Brady gave Brennan a small smile, but she didn't return it. As far as Brennan was concerned, she didn't belong here, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be a science project for two med students. All Brennan wanted was to go back to the Jeffersonian and do her job. _Funny, since that was the last thing I wanted an hour ago…_

Sullivan checked Brennan's stats and asked, "How are you feeling, Ms. Brennan? Are you experiencing any pain?"

Brennan bit back the reminder to Sullivan to call her 'Dr.' Instead she retorted, "I'm feeling fine, with the exception of my growing irritation. You haven't answered any of my questions." To Brennan's surprise, she felt the sedative wearing off. The angrier she became, the more she was able to move. She knew it was the adrenaline that was clearing out the drug. _The minute I'm steady on my feet, I'm out of here…maybe I'll pop Sullivan one and blame it on 'disorientation'. What the hell, he's ruining my day and he looks just like Sully. Kill two birds with one stone…or is it rock? _

She saw Sullivan grimace and he apologized, "I'm sorry. There's someone coming in today to help explain--"

"But you could have at least told me why I was here in the first place," Brennan pointed out.

Sullivan frowned, growing impatient. "Quite frankly, Ms. Brennan, based on your previous behaviors and assumptions, I don't think you'll believe me."

"Damn right I won't. You say I've been in a coma for two years, and yet I feel fine. An hour ago I was working on identifying a victim in my lab at the Jeffersonian--"

Leonzi interrupted, "Dr. Sullivan, why is the patient doing so well? Shouldn't she have catalepsy?"

"I have a name," Brennan snapped.

Sullivan ignored her and explained, "Every coma patient is different. Some will wake and will have to go through physical therapy to gain control of their limbs. Other times their minds will have completely deteriorated. In Ms. Brennan's case, her mind is sharp. Her movements come easily, which indicates she does not have catalepsy--a waxy flexibility that occurs when the body has remained in one position for an extended period of time. Our patient's case is an odd one since yesterday her brain activity on the Glasgow scale remained at a 2. The only affects of her coma seem to be delirium--"

"Bullshit!" Brennan interrupted vehemently.

"--she has no knowledge of how she got here, and is under the delusion she is a doctor and works at a fictional place called the 'Jeffersonian'…" Sullivan finished.

"I want to talk to Booth. Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI. He's my partner. He can verify that I am Dr. Temperance Brennan and I work as a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian's medico-legal lab," Brennan said confidently, holding on to the fact of her vast knowledge on skeletons and bones.

A knock on the doorway brought the group's attention away from Brennan. Peering her head around the students and Sullivan, her heart skipped a few beats. A slow, triumphant smile spread across Brennan's face. Chuckling, Brennan announced, "That's Booth. That's my partner."

Booth stepped in, his brows coming together in confusion. He shook hands with Sullivan and asked, "How is she?"

Sullivan blew out air and answered, "It's like she's never had a medical crisis. She's healthy, physically. I wouldn't doubt she could run a marathon, but mentally she seems to be delirious…" he lowered his voice, causing Brennan's cheeks and neck to turn red with annoyance and frustration. "She believes she's a forensic anthropologist who works with you."

"But I've never met her in my life."

Any remnant of Brennan's smile faded into oblivion. _Dear god, did he just say he's never met me? This has to be a cruel, sick joke…he couldn't do that to me, could he? _Her head spun and self-doubt once again flooded her system. She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate and her pulse raced. Trembling, she demanded, "I want some goddamned answers, now!"

Booth spared her a glance, and sympathy poured from his eyes. "Ms. Brennan, I promise to explain everything in a few moments." Brennan's hand flew to her mouth as a reflex. _Oh no…he wouldn't do this to me. This can't be happening. He didn't call me Bones. Booth didn't call me Bones. _Involuntary tears sprang to her eyes. She suddenly felt helpless and it killed her. Every second that passed made her start to believe her entire life was false. _Who the hell am I? _

"Booth…" she whispered. His eyes darted to hers once again, and she hoped that something would spark his memory, that her plead would end the nightmare she was enduring. Booth nodded to Sullivan and the group left the room. Booth pulled up a chair and sat. _He's the same. He talks, moves, hell, he even wears the same cologne as in…as in what? My imaginary life?_

Digging out a file, Booth asked gently, "Ms. Brennan how much do you know?"

"I don't know what's happening, Booth. They're all saying I've been in a coma for two years, and that I'm not who I am. Booth, don't you recognize me? We are partners, how can you not remember this?" Brennan fired off, her eyes becoming even more bloodshot and watery.

Booth studied her intently before prodding, "I'm sorry Ms. Brennan. I know this must be confusing. Maybe if we start, you'll remember things--"

"How can you say that?" Brennan whispered. "I know who you are, doesn't that raise some red flags? You're Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI." _You were a sniper, and you told me that you want to put as many bad guys in jail for the number of lives you took in the Gulf, _Brennan added as an afterthought. She kept that bit in, deciding it would be catastrophic for her if she freaked him out and he left without giving her answers. Brennan could tell by the way he shifted in his seat, and how his eyes wouldn't meet hers that she already unnerved him a bit. Brennan whispered, almost inaudibly, "Just tell me what happened."

Clearing his throat, Booth began slowly, "Ms. Brennan, on September 13th, 2005, you were attacked by a convict on the run. You were hit with a crowbar in the head, which caused your two-year coma--"

"September 13th? That's when we became partners, after the Cleo Ellers case…" Brennan whispered again, in a daze. Booth sharply met her eyes after mentioning Cleo Ellers. Brennan motioned for him to continue, but Booth replied, "Look. I don't understand how you know what you know, but keep throwing out random facts of my past or present, and I can't do this. Please."

Brennan nodded dully, and Booth continued, "You were in your office when it happened. You are a 31-year old wedding planner--"

"The hell am I! Marriage is an archaic institution, and anthropologically speaking, mammals are meant to have many mates, not just one. Wedding planning is _not _my occupation," Brennan broke out of her daze and vehemently burst at Booth. He stared at her for a few moments before asking, "Are you finished?"

Brennan crossed her arms and muttered, "Yes."

"Your birthday is May 3rd, your parents--now deceased--were Matthew and Christine Brennan. Your father was a science teacher, and your mother was a bookkeeper," Booth gave a quick bio and added, "no siblings."

Brennan scoffed, "Well, at least you got my birthday right and metaphorically no brother." A wave of disappointment hit her. She had forgiven Russ for abandoning her when she was fifteen. He was only nineteen, she couldn't' have expected him to raise her after their parents left. But his recent run in with their father caused Russ himself to became a fugitive after breaking rules of his parole. She hadn't seen or heard from him since, and it hurt.

Ignoring Brennan's remark, Booth started again, "Your attacker was a man named Howard Epps."

Brennan's eyes widened and she turned to say, "Booth, Epps--"

He wagged a finger at Brennan and his eyes warned her not to finish the sentence. He didn't want to know, and she didn't want to scare him off by spouting facts about Epps after being in a two-year coma. Reluctantly, Brennan closed her mouth. _What kind of backwards world am I in? This can't be reality. _Her eyes flickered to Booth, and a sense of longing and sorrow pounded her. _We were friends. Without each other, we would have been dead by now…It never happened. The life I thought I had never happened, it was just some reality my traumatized brain created…no, I can't accept that. I just can't, no matter what he tells me. _

"Howard Epps was arrested for murdering his girlfriend. After he escaped prison, you were his first target. You were arranging a wedding for the two. In the two years that have passed, we haven't been able to catch him. And he hasn't stopped killing. Epps is the worst serial killer to hit the East Coast, hell, maybe even the nation. On average, about four people a month are killed. Only recently, he's beginning to slip up," Booth finished tensely.

Brennan did the math. "Ninety-six or so people. How could he have not been caught by now?"

"His I.Q. is off the charts. He has a bad habit of committing a murder without leaving any evidence behind, and if there is, it's directed to a completely different person. Example, his eighth victim, Marla Henney, made it seem like the pizza delivery boy brutally beat and strangle her. He sets up crime scenes," Booth spat out. Brennan detected a hint of rage in his voice, and a feeling of déjà vu came over her. _He didn't 'accidentally drop' him off a roof for nothing, _Brennan mused mirthlessly.

"So," Brennan exhaled, "that's what happened." She shook her head. "I refuse to accept this reality."

"Believe what you want, Ms. Brennan. I know this is hard, and though I can't explain your confusion, this is the truth. This is reality," Booth declared. Brennan closed her eyes, at a loss. There was no rational reason, hell, no reason at all to explain what was happening. She knew Booth had given her more information about Epps than he intended, but Brennan understood that he was trying to answer her questions.

She had the responses now. Didn't mean she had to like it.

"Booth," Brennan said quietly, ignoring the fact she should technically call him 'Agent Booth', "don't call me Ms. Brennan."

"What should I call you?"

She closed her eyes an answered, "Bones would be nice." She didn't need to open her eyes to see his bewildered expression. "But Tempe will be acceptable."

Another pair of footsteps echoed against the marbled floor. Brennan hesitantly opened her eyes again to find another familiar face. Short, standing at five-foot-seven, a thick head of curls and the bluest orbs Brennan had ever seen made his way to Booth. Booth coughed, trying to push Brennan's astonished face in the back of his mind, introduced, "Tempe, this is my partner--"

"Jack Hodgins," Brennan finished.

Hodgins smiled and answered, oblivious to the awkward situation between Brennan and Booth, "Glad to know I've been talked about. I'll take it as a complement. I hope Booth hasn't been bothering you too much, ma'am."

Brennan shook her head, and Booth was once again staring at her the same way she'd analyze a bone. _Never thought Hodgins would end up in government. Then again, I am apparently the complete opposite of what I was. A wedding planner? Please. _Brennan paled. She knew she was beginning to accept what she was being told. _But I can't. Things don't add up. How do I know what I know? Booth knows things aren't what they seem either. I'm going to have to prove some things…_

"I'm going to give you an address, Booth," Brennan started to say. Booth listened, but she could tell by now he was disconcerted with her. "1523 Sherbrooke Blvd. Do you know where that is?"

Booth nodded and answered, "Yeah, it's a couple of streets away from the Smithsonian and the other museums." Brennan nodded. _It's the Jeffersonian's address. Come back with that, and I can start finding out what's happened to me. I just need to check and see that the Jeffersonian does exist. _

"Just tell me what building is there, please," Brennan stated.

"Sure," Booth said lightly. With a sinking feeling, Brennan knew he wouldn't. Would she entertain a crazy person's notions? She was going to have to find out for herself.

And she swore she would get to the bottom of this nightmare.

* * *

AN: Push that review button, pretty please. Also, I'll be leaving the 6th on vacation, so don't freak if there isn't an update for a week. ) 


	3. Nowhere Else To Go

**Chapter Three: Nowhere Else To Go**

Brennan paced angrily on the ammonia-scrubbed, white-tiled floor of her hospital room, while applying pressure to a new hole in her arm. The IV that _use _to be connected to her body hung loosely off a machine, and the covers were tossed to the ground. Brennan had scared the living daylights out of the on-duty nurse when she leapt off the bed, demanding that she see Sullivan. The nurse had turned white in the face, shocked that a two-year coma patient was ripping various tubes out of her arms. The sedative Brennan was administered had worn off long before Booth left with his partner, 'Special Agent Jack Hodgins', and Brennan was determined to leave the hospital. _Unbelievable. I am going to find out how to get the hell out of this backwards world myself. I know this isn't real._

Dr. Sullivan returned, anger etched clearly on his face. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. I would like some clothes and a bandage for my arm. That shouldn't be too hard, Sully," Brennan replied, throwing in the nickname to see his reaction.

Sullivan frowned even more and Brennan caught his eyes narrowing. Moving to a nearby cabinet, he pulled out a box of band-aids and tossed them to his patient. Brennan caught it effortlessly, causing Sullivan to shake his head once more in utter confusion. "I still don't understand how you are able to react and move like this after being in a coma."

"I was not in a coma, I was working two hours ago," Brennan said simply as she applied the bandaged onto her self-inflicted wound. She saw Sullivan turn solemn and sighed loudly, as if he were trying to reason with a heroine addict to stop using in order to save their life. His eyes held the hopelessness one had when trying to convince someone of the truth and others kept denying reality. Brennan swallowed hard, trying not to lose her confidence. She had to be right; everyone else around her was wrong.

"You shouldn't leave, Ms. Brennan. You clearly need help. You were the victim of a horrendous attack by a now notorious serial killer--" Sullivan started to reason once more.

Brennan interrupted, "I'm leaving, Sully. I know it's against medical advice, so as soon as you give me my papers and some clothes, the inevitable will be over with."

Sullivan looked at her sternly and tried a different tactic. "You have nowhere else to go."

"I'm going to the Jeffersonian," Brennan replied, her eyes holding his steadily. "Now may I have what I asked for?"

Sullivan shook his head slowly, understanding that defeat was in his future. He turned to leave, his cheeks burning with indignation and concern for his patient. He stopped in the doorway and without turning around, he asked, "How'd you know my nickname was Sully?"

Brennan let out a humorless laugh and answered, "It's what you told me to call you when we first met with the case in Florida."

Sullivan shook his head, now fully convinced Brennan had mental problems. He had never met her before, not until she came under his care two years ago in a comatose state. He knew that the hospital could detain patients if they were liable to themselves and/or others if they were mentally unstable, but Brennan had shown neither of these characteristics. He had to let her leave.

Shaking his head, he went to retrieve Brennan's items.

* * *

The sun shown warmly on Brennan's slightly pale cheeks as she exited the hospital. Readjusting plain navy sweats she had been given and rolling up her sleeves, she began to head towards the Jeffersonian Institute. Brennan had no money with her--not even enough to just simply call her workplace. _Nothing wrong with walking, except that it'll take longer to get my answers. _She began walking towards her destination, a growing knot in her stomach. Even if she would find the Jeffersonian and the others, and after either Angela, Zach, or Cam confirmed her identity, there was still the matter of how she ended up in the hospital. _You could have been hit on the head. Something hurt, and someone shouted. You may not have remembered. _That was explainable--but what was the excuse for Booth, Hodgins, and Sully?

Brennan stopped dead in her tracks as she came to a conclusion.

There was no reason at all to justify her closest friends' reactions to her.

"What is going on?" she breathed out, panic taking over. She started running, sprinting on the cracked and dirty sidewalks of D.C. People stared and pointed at the frantic woman, but Brennan ignored them, intent on racing her way to the Jeffersonian steps. Wind started to whip at her face, and she didn't even acknowledge the tears of self-doubt and desperation leaking from her eyes. For the first time in for a long while, Brennan was terrified. She didn't even realize someone following her in a black SUV. After five minutes of relentless running, Brennan's heart was pounding fiercely inside her chest and her breaths were becoming ragged and choppy. She slowed when she came to Sherbrooke Blvd, reducing her breakneck speed to a jog. Sweat dampened her forehead and face, mixing with the lingering salty tears she had unknowingly shed in her frustration and creeping despair. The car tailed her still.

_1501...1503..._Brennan recognized many of the buildings. After all, she had driven past these same houses and businesses on her way to work everyday for years. They were still standing; surely the Jeffersonian Institute was there, just as it always had existed. _1519..._Brennan realized the area was becoming more crowded with people. She was two building complexes away from the museum. Someone with a load of shopping bags collided with Brennan, sending the contents of the plastic bags to the ground. Flustered, Brennan quickly apologized and picked up the bag and some of the fallen objects. Ignoring mutters from the other overweight woman, Brennan caught the address of where the shopper had originated.

"No…"

Dropping the bag once more and turning from the outraged woman, Brennan shoved her way through a crowd of happy, energetic midday shoppers and bargain hunters. Brennan began to feel herself hyperventilate as all hope of clinging to her reality disappeared slowly. Suddenly a giant of a man who smelled of sweat and French fries snatched her arm and whipped her to the wall of a building. He pushed against her hard, grinding her face against the brick, hissing, "Who the hell are you pushing around? That was my wife back there, you stupid bi--"

"Let her go, FBI!" a strained voice boomed from behind the two.

Brennan felt the other man release his hold and step back hesitantly. Brennan rubbed her cheek and looked up into the face of Seeley Booth, whose gun was trained on her assailant. Brennan searched behind him and found a black SUV crookedly parked with the door still flung open. Brennan let out a shaky breath. _He must have been following me…_

Brennan's attacker stepped back immediately after Booth began reaching for handcuffs. "Sorry, I'm leaving now, okay?"

Booth shot him a steely glare as the other man hurriedly made his way past Brennan and Booth, bumping and pushing people out of the way himself. Booth shook his head in disgust before asking, "Tempe, are you alright?"

Brennan stiffened as she shook her head, "No." Before Booth could react, she raced around the corner, her suspicions and heartbeat racing. Booth shouted her name, but she ignored it. The last brick of the surrounding building became a blur as the address _1523 Sherbrooke _jumped out at her. She came to a halt, shaking her head. Across the street was a huge parking lot. The Jeffersonian wasn't there: in its place was Sherbrooke Blvd. Plaza.

Her home was a goddamned mall.

"Tempe!

Booth nearly ran her over in his attempt to catch her. She turned, inches from him. He saw her lower lip trembling and her eyes were wide with shock. She became still otherwise, before asking, "What's wrong with me?" _God, what is she going through? _Booth thought sadly. He moved to place a hand of comfort on her shoulder but she jerked back quickly, as if contact with him were fire.

"Don't touch me!" she almost screamed. Facing Booth, her voice raised another octave, "What happened to me! I am Dr. Temperance Brennan, and where did the Jeffersonian go? Where's Zach? Where's the Booth and Hodgins I know? Huh?" Booth tried to get her to stop yelling and causing a scene by grabbing her shoulders. She shoved him back as he attempted to calm her.

"Look," he started. "I can't imagine what you're going through. But for two years, you were in a coma. Before that, you had a life. And it wasn't this imaginary place called the Jeffersonian. I looked into it, okay? There was never such a building. And you were not an anthropologist--"

"But I was!"

"I'm sorry--" Booth was becoming just as exasperated as she was.

"Don't give me that," Brennan snapped. "I know things. I know things about bones. Hell, looking at you and your posture, I could tell that both of your feet were fractured in many places." Booth paled visibly. Brennan grimaced. _Okay, so I'm cheating because I looked at his x-rays, but what the hell am I going to have to do in order for him to believe me?_

"By your build also, I'd say most of the muscle mass you had accumulated today was the result of military training…"

Booth held up a hand, his eyes dark. "How in the hell could you possibly know this?"

Brennan shrugged and answered, becoming slightly more calm, "Because I _was_ a forensic anthropologist." Booth didn't comment as he folded his arms uneasily across his chest. Brennan pointed out to a young redheaded woman around twenty, saying, "That woman with the orange shopping bag? Her gait suggests that her hips are widening because she's pregnant. And that man who just passed us--" Booth looked and Brennan explained, "Judging by the lumps on his knuckles and due to his age, I'd say he has osteophytes--"

"Osteo-what?" Booth gritted out.

"Bone spurs," Brennan explained, "they usually form due to arthritis."

A woman with a baby in a stroller pushed between Booth and Brennan. The child's almost-too-wide eyes peered at Brennan curiously before turning back to his bottle. Her eyes raised, and she announced to Booth, "The kid that just passed us has another skeletal disorder. Though X-rays would confirm it, I'd be willing to bet my professional career that he has craniosynostosis."

Booth looked at her blankly.

Brennan explained, "It's when some or all of the sutures in the skull close too early. Some of the symptoms include swelling in the head, bulging eyes, flat facial structures, fused digits--"

"You could be making this up for all I know," Booth interrupted.

"No, I'm not," Brennan said evenly. "I wrote books--they were on the bestsellers' list. _Bred in the Bone, _and my latest one was going to be called _Bone Free, _but I changed it--"

"Well, you're right about the books. But they were written by a guy named Zach Addy. He's pretty good, except that he doesn't use a lot of science on his books. Some of it's completely made up," Booth supplied.

Brennan let out a mirthless laugh. "Unbelievable. Zach, of all people…"

"Guess that means you aren't who you say you are."

"I swear to you what I'm saying is real. Besides, how could I make up your fractured feet, or that you were a sniper, a Ranger," Brennan challenged. Booth's jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes darkening. He became very still, just as Brennan had moments before. The thick silence made Brennan anxious. _But now I have his attention. Time to up it a notch._

"Booth, we worked on cases before. We were partners. Howard Epps? He has a nasty habit of brutally beating and strangling young, pretty women. They tend to be blonde, but from what you told me, he isn't as picky anymore. He likes to play games. I'm also willing to bet at one point in time he gave you clues on a dead girl's body that led to a live victim." _Because that's what he did. And that was the first time I killed somebody. I would never, ever forget something of that magnitude._

Booth moved suddenly, forcefully grabbing her arm and leading her to the alley. Brennan detected panic, confusion, and loathing in his eyes and posture. Once away from the crowds, he growled, "She wasn't alive. She was dead when we finally found her. How do you know all this? How could you possibly know?"

Brennan shook free and answered, "It's what I've been saying all along. I am a forensic anthropologist and we were partners. I don't know what's happening, and I gather you don't either."

"Damn right I don't."

"Well, did I convince you that I'm not a wedding planner?" Brennan sighed, her hands on her hips.

Booth only stared uneasily at her.

"Fine. You want me to go into your past and present? You're with the F.B.I. because you want to put as many bad guys in jail for the people you killed as a sniper. A cosmic balance sheet, if you will. You have a brother named Jared and he gave you a scar when the two of you played "Soldier" as kids--"

"Stop," Booth muttered.

"Oh, and you have a son. Parker," Brennan added. Booth looked at her sharply, causing her to pause. He stepped forward, crowding her personal space. He leaned over her, threateningly. Brennan only glared back at him.

"Now you got something wrong. I don't have a son." Booth whispered harshly.

Brennan wracked her brain, realizing this was the first time he denied something she said about his life. "A daughter?" Brennan tried. _Who knows? Hodgins is in government, Parker may be Patty or something…_

Booth let out a forceful breath and replied steadily, "Wrong again. I don't have a kid."

He pushed off the wall and Brennan watched as he counted to ten, letting a sudden build-up of stress release from his body. He didn't face her for a long time, letting information process. Brennan waited, knowing he was just as shocked and perplexed as she was. Deciding it was time to break the silence, she asked, "Why were you following me?"

Booth didn't answer her at first, and Brennan thought he hadn't heard her. Suddenly he told her, "You had me curious at the hospital. Needless to say, I have a helluva lot more than what I bargained for. I had the feeling you'd check yourself out by the way you were acting."

"And…"

Booth turned, his expression like stone. "And I thought you would need my help. You were attacked, people are telling you that you aren't who you are--"

"Don't start patronizing me, Booth," Brennan breathed wearily. "I know you still don't believe that I am a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian, so just tell me the truth. Why were you following me?"

Booth lowered his eyes, his expression softening. Truthfully, he answered, "You don't have anywhere else to go. I, along with the people I work with, believe you need to be in a safe house. Especially with Epps still out here. And we can help you find more answers about this whole thing."

Brennan let her arms drop and she muttered, "What if I really am crazy?"

"Well, then, we can help you figure that out."

Brennan sighed, admitting, "I have nowhere else to go." She looked at him, and he nodded slowly. He placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the alley.

It was almost like old times.


	4. A Proposal

_**AN: **__Thanks to Renee, Mrs.JordanHoyt, BandBelong, suedo, YouAndMe Kelly, Merdeka21, awilystar, and Lu78 for the reviews! And shouts out to Kasper!!!_

**Chapter Four: A Proposal **

Brennan closed her eyes and leaned against the wall outside the Deputy Director's office inside the Federal Bureau of Investigation building, debating on whether she should block out the raised voices, or try hearing the private conversation that was at hand. _Correction, Booth is the one yelling. Cullen would never have allowed this kind of insubordination. _She looked to the sign painted on the wooden door and thought grimly, a_nd neither would she. _

* * *

She could tell Booth had a problem. Of course, it didn't take a genius to figure out by his frantic hand gestures and rapid-fire babbling to know that, but she detected other warning signs. Warning signs, she contemplated sadly, that she was seeing much more frequently. His shoulders were stiff and his eyes were narrowed and filled with a darkness she did not wish to explore. She supposed, that the vortexes of confusion and anger were better than what she normally saw--which was little more than a deadpan lifelessness. _He needs a vacation…and help. He's going to force me to take drastic measures pretty soon…_

"Slow down, Booth," Deputy Director Camille Saroyan asked, her face stern and unrelenting.

Booth let his hands drop to his sides and he exhaled, "We have a major issue, Camille."

"I can see that--you barging in here and ranting about a coma patient, your insubordination--yes we do have an issue," Cam commented dryly.

Booth put his hands in his pockets and fought back a retort. He sighed audibly and mumbled, "I apologize, ma'am." Cam offered a small smile, breaking her strict appearance. Being the youngest in that position ever at forty-two, she needed to prove on a daily basis she was the best choice to carry on as Deputy Director. She would not allow someone ranked under herself to plow her over--even if they were old friends. But because Booth did have a place close to her heart, the two of them once being lovers many years back, she was more willing to let him cross some lines. It was her only weakness.

"Please, Booth, tell me what's going on," Cam asked, her voice calm and even.

Booth nodded and began again, more controlled, "Howard Epps' second victim--Tempe Brennan--woke up from her two year coma. I have convinced her that she needs to be in a safe house while the worst serial killer in the history of this city is still out there. We both know he will come back after her."

"She was coherent enough to understand the gravity of the situation?" Cam questioned.

Fire flickered across Booth's face as he snorted, "Oh, she was more than coherent. She walked right out of the hospital less than two hours of coming out of it."

"Is that even possible?"

"Well, she stunned the doctors. But there's more--far more. She _knows _things," Booth raised his voice again.

"You're being a little bit too vague for me, Booth," Cam prompted.

Booth's hand flew up to his forehead and he began pacing, clarifying, "She believes she's a forensic anthropologist and author at a fictional place called the Jeffersonian Institute and Medico-legal lab. But the creepy part is, she knows her things. She stood out in the middle of a frigging sidewalk and pointed out bone disorders--she could tell just by looking at me that I was military, and she knew that both of my feet were broken."

Cam's brows furrowed in uncertainty. "How could she know that?"

"Oh, wait, that's just the icing on the cake. She knows things about Epps--his M.O., and about the one chance we had to find the live girl, Helen. She's convinced that her and I were partners and friends. She even mentioned the Cleo Ellers case, an-and when Jack Hodgins came in, she knew who he was right off the bat. How do you explain that?" Booth paused and answered his own question, "You just can't! I mean, she went as far as going to the place she thought was the Jeffersonian, but it ended up being the Plaza. And she was genuinely shocked discovering the mall instead of this museum. The woman is downright scary, in my opinion."

Cam mulled over what Booth claimed. She added, "I've heard about head trauma patients who've woken up and they suddenly gained capabilities they didn't have before. Hell, my own brother--a math failure--got nailed in the noggin with a baseball, and when he woke at the ER, he could multiply ten digit numbers together in his mind without even trying. But this…it's mystifying, to say the least." Booth's account almost sounded as if he were on the brink of insanity. He saw the doubt creeping into her face when he whispered, "She thought that I had a son. Parker."

Cam's eyes shot up and held his with pity and concern. "Seel, you really need to talk about--"

"I will," Booth interrupted. "And I'm fine, anyway." The blankness came back and his eyes became filled with nothing. Cam sighed, disappointed and conflicted.

"Booth…we're getting close to Epps. When this is over, which I pray will be soon, you're going to take a vacation, at the department's expense," Cam announced.

Booth grimaced and he accused, "You think some time off is going to fix the past--"

"And you're going to talk with someone," Cam continued, hardening her voice, "or I will be forced to retract your badge and gun and have you undergo a mandatory evaluation."

"You're doing that now," Booth seethed.

"But you're not suspended, yet," Cam pointed out.

"Can't I be allowed to do things my own way? This is my problem, not yours," Booth rasped quietly, obviously knowing he would be defeated.

"It becomes my problem when I can't handle seeing a friend in pain. You need help," Cam tried to reason with him. "You really do."

The door creaked open and Brennan stepped in. Booth shoved his hands back into is pockets and stared at the floor. Cam stood and asked, "May I help you?"

Brennan cleared her throat, and replied, "Sorry, I tried knocking, but on one answered. I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan, and I couldn't help but overhear some of what you were saying." _I wish I could have heard all of it, but when they stopped yelling, I had no choice but to come in. _

"How much have you heard," Booth demanded.

"Just the parts about me," Brennan defended. She turned to Cam and declared, "I cannot, and will not accept this reality where Booth and I aren't partners, and Epps isn't dead. I live in a better world. But…" she paused, and met Booth's eyes for a moment. She searched for any old side of him, however the glint of mischief usually in his face and the almost-always present charm smile were nonexistent. She turned back to Cam, still trying to get over the fact that she was Booth's boss, and finished, "…but I will go along with it to help catch Howard Epps. We've done it before, and with me, we can do it again. This is my proposal, and I until I figure out what's wrong with me, I can aid Booth in Epps' capture." Cam leaned back, annoyance and skepticism clearly written on her face. Booth chewed his bottom lip and began pacing again. Brennan crossed her arms over her chest and thought bitterly, _okay…this is going to be harder than I thought…_

* * *

AN: I tweaked Cam's age slighly for the job she has. 


	5. Scully and Mulder

**Chapter Five: Scully and Mulder**

_So this is the woman who has my best agent tied up in knots. _Cam scrutinized the woman who just barged into her office. Her posture radiated determination, and only the slight widening of her blue eyes gave any hint of nervousness. She was pale, and she _did _appear as if she had been sick for a long time. The dark hollows under her eyes weren't there for nothing. _At least she's calmer than what Booth was. _Cam almost took an instant liking to her, until Brennan requested that she work on the Howard Epps case.

"I'm sorry--Ms. Brennan, I'm not getting the feeling you truly comprehend the situation. You have no credentials that could aid us. You are neither law enforcement nor scientist. Hell, I'd even take a psychic onboard at this point, but Ms. Brennan, you are just another ordinary civilian. Which means you'd be a liability and a safety concern. Not to mention, you are a victim of Epps himself--in the courtroom, anything you provide could possibly be dismissed. Which brings me back to my major point--Howard Epps is a dangerous man, and I understand you know firsthand of what I mean." Cam discreetly tapped her head to get her point across. Brennan grimaced and shifted uneasily.

"That's what everyone has told me, yes," Brennan confirmed. _I really am beginning to dislike Cam…again. I am a scientist, I do have credentials, and I've dealt with criminals before. And psychics are frauds, it would be an ill-advised choice to recruit one. _Brennan sighed, and added quietly, "But I know I can help you. Please, hear me out."

Cam tapped her pen on the desk, contemplating. Booth shot both women a withering glare before he asked, "You aren't seriously thinking about listening to her?"

Ignoring Booth, Cam nodded, "You have one minute, Ms. Brennan."

Brennan launched right into it. "I know things. Booth can second that. Need I remind you about your fractured feet?"

"No," Booth answered stiffly.

_Okay, I'm going to cheat again, because in the real world I would need x-rays. I wouldn't have known any of this if Booth hadn't been blown up by my fridge. But I need the two of them to believe me. _"Booth…it's hard to tell, but I detect some odd bone formation in your ribcage. Can you please lift your shirt?"

Booth shoved his hands into his pockets disdainfully. Cam actually smirked and motioned for Booth to do as Brennan asked. Groaning in frustration, Booth yanked his blue work shirt up. Brennan stepped forward and turned him to the side. With horror, she felt her cheeks turning red from touching his bare skin and muscular abdominals. He snickered, "Like what you see?" Cam rolled her eyes and Brennan chose to ignore his jab.

Clearing her throat, she announced, "Your fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs were broken at one point in time. Probably around fifteen years ago…"

Booth's eyes widened, and Cam watched, clearly fascinated now. Brennan had to fight herself from smiling, knowing that she must have appeared as a freak at the moment. She was bluffing, but they'd never know it. "They're too spread out for normal formation, indicating that you were shielding someone…I don't know from what, but your ribcage has since healed…"

Booth jerked back from her, and a thick silence descended the trio. Cam's mouth was slightly agape and Booth muttered, his eyes to the floor, "You've made your point."

Trying to cut the growing awkwardness, Brennan finished, "I know bones. And my knowledge of that will lead us to Howard Epps so he can finally be apprehended. I'm sure that there are bodies that have not yet been identified?"

Cam shook off her astonishment from earlier and stuttered, "Uh, yes, there's some women who remain unidentified. Is that what you can do--find out who they are?"

"And so much more…with a lab, and everything," Brennan hinted. She sensed that she was going to get her way after all. _Okay, now I'm starting to like her…again. _

Cam nodded and looked to Booth, almost helplessly, "Well, she sure as hell convinced me. It can't hurt--"

"Wait," Booth argued, "you said anything she finds can be dismissed in court."

"She wouldn't be the first person in this case," Cam answered cryptically. It flew over Brennan's head, but it appeared to hit Booth. His cheeks flushed red, and he diverted his eyes to the floor. Brennan frowned. _What was that about?_

"Here's my offer," Cam finally conceded. "You will help in this case as a civilian consultant. Anything you find will immediately be handed over to one of our people."

Brennan started to protest and Cam held up her hand, "It will always be your find, and you can supervise, but someone not connected personally to the case has to handle the evidence. I will allow you to go into the field."

"Can I have a gun?"

Booth and Cam unanimously answered, "No."

_Some things never change, _Brennan thought sourly.

Cam directed to Booth, "Ms. Brennan is your responsibility--"

"I can't believe you're being serious," Booth interrupted.

"Booth, my patience is already walking a tightrope, do not push it over the side. Ms. Brennan is your responsibility. Understood?"

Booth shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Understood." He cast a sidelong glance to Brennan and said evenly, "Perfect. We're Scully and Mulder now."

Brennan smirked. For once, she already knew what he meant.


	6. Creepy Bone Lady

**AN: **_Thanks to bb-4ever, Frona, beaglelvr93, Kasper, Bones4Ever, phi4858, and I hart Booth for the reviews!_

**Chapter Six: Creepy Bone Lady**

"Why are you so upset with me, I'm only helping you catch Howard Epps," Brennan called after Booth as he stormed down to the morgue. She sighed as she fixed her visitors badge on her shirt and ran after him. Ignoring her, he traveled down several flights of stairs to the floor where the coroner's office and mortuary rooms in the Bureau building were at. She caught up to him and pulled on his arm, causing him to whip around. She practically plowed into Booth's chest and ended up being a mere few inches from his face as he spoke vehemently.

"You are supposed to be a vegetable in a hospital! You are not supposed to be some bone expert! You--" and he jabbed his finger at her face to make a point, "scare the living hell out of me! So excuse me if I'm not in the talking chit-chat mood, okay?"

She placed her hands on her hips and scoffed, "I scare you? Come on, you were in the Rangers--"

"You know, I'd really appreciate it if you just didn't throw out random facts about my life, hmmm?"

"Fine."

"Thank you, Ms. Brennan," Booth said stiffly as he started walking again. Brennan rolled her eyes and corrected, "I said to call me Tempe."

"Tempe, creepy bone lady, whatever," he mumbled as he pushed the morgue door open. The official coroner and an assistant looked up from a table with a badly decomposing young woman on it, and Booth nodded to the both of them. The assistant was young, fresh out of college and taller than Booth with jet black hair and amber eyes. The other was middle-aged, balding, and seemed to shrink in on himself. He was meek-appearing and mouse-faced. Brennan stepped out from behind Booth and the two others looked at her skeptically. To her annoyance, she saw the skepticism evolve into goggling over her looks.

"Dr. Riley, Jake, is that our Jane Doe from two days ago?" Booth asked as he came over.

"Yes sir," the assistant, Jake, answered. "We haven't made much progress due to the fact all identifying markers have been destroyed--"

"Not to mention the homicide rate on federal lands and missing kid cases have skyrocketed. We haven't had a moment's rest," Dr. Riley added, slightly miffed at having his assistant answer for him. Brennan sighed, irritated. She just wanted to look at the body, not get in the middle of a testosterone battle.

Sensing her impatience, Booth snapped his fingers and demanded, "Focus, gentlemen. This is Tempe Brennan, and she's the woman I called about earlier."

"I meant to ask you, who said she was qualified to--" Dr. Riley began until Brennan interrupted him.

"Female is in the third stage of decomp…late teens to early twenties. Cause of death seems to be blunt force trauma to the skull…I see no other wounds other than defensive. Teeth are missing, and the facial structures are mutilated to keep identification almost impossible. Fingertips were also taken, and from the way the exposed bone is cut, it looks like a power tool did the job."

Dr. Riley opened and closed his mouth. Jake grinned and announced, "Well hell, she has my vote."

Ignoring him, Brennan asked Dr. Riley, "Do you have in your possession x-rays of the victim? Because she still has flesh, I'm not able to do much more as far as identification." Wordlessly he grabbed one of the files he had in a brown leather bag and handed it over. Booth leaned against a chair, his face set in deep thought as he looked on.

She held the scans to the light and clarified, "These are the originals?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jake answered. Dr. Riley shot him another dirty look and said to Brennan, "The black areas you see between the distal and proximal rows are air."

"Did you dissect the flesh and observe the bones to make sure?" Brennan asked as she handed some of the scans back to Dr. Riley. He shook his head and Brennan bit back an insult. Grabbing a pair of latex gloves and cutting instruments, she shoved past the coroner, oblivious to the creeping anger in his face. She was the second person that day to continually usurp his authority, and that damaged his ego incredibly. Booth watched the exchange and cracked a small smile before his face set back into stoniness.

Cutting into where the black splotches on the x-rays were and peeling back rancid flesh, Jake commented dryly, "Not the squeamish type, is she?"

"The shadows aren't air…" Brennan trailed off as she set down her implements and picked up a pair of tweezers, "they're some sort of stone." Grabbing a dish, she dropped a piece of bloodied gravel into it. Booth stepped over and asked, "I suppose that means something? Right?"

"Where was the body found, Booth?" Brennan asked while digging out more gravel.

Booth looked at her grimly and replied, "In a kindergarten playground. I know what you're thinking--there was no pavement, only mulch and grass were present. We know she was hidden in the bushes for about a week."

"Which means she was killed somewhere else. Narrow down where the gravel might have come from. Until you guys clean the bones, I won't be of much more help in identification. With her bones, I maybe able to tell occupation markers, find any old injuries…" she stopped and took in the shattered face. It was like history was repeating itself, especially with the discovery of the imbedded gravel. Another dead woman lay on the table, faceless, lifeless, and nameless. It was sickening--and it was wrong. She needed to bring Epps down before he murdered another innocent girl. She muttered softly to Booth, "Epps is one sick bastard."

Booth lowered his eyes. "I know."

She shook her head and wished aloud, "If Angela was here, she might have been able to reconstruct the skull…find out who this poor woman was sooner. I don't understand why she was mutilated while the other victims weren't…"

His voice tight, Booth asked, "Angela? As in Angela Montenegro?"

Hope filled Brennan's face and she replied, "Yes! Do you know her?"

Booth nodded. "Yeah. I know her." He left it at that, and Brennan sensed something was wrong. Fear punched her hard in the gut and she waited for Booth to explain how he knew Angela. Diverting his eyes, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "It's time we went for a drive. There's something I need to show you."


	7. Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand

**Chapter Seven: Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand**

_There's something I need to show you…_

Brennan felt like she was on the top of the highest, most dangerous roller coaster in the world, waiting to plummet to the ground, with a front row seat for the entire drop. Wringing her hands, fear gripped her insides. She knew something was wrong, something horrible had happened to Angela. She was torn between telling Booth to turn around and drive her back to the morgue, opting to deal with Dr. Riley and his assistant's antics instead…or discover what Booth was going to show her. Out of best friend obligations, she kept her thoughts to herself, and allowed Booth to continue driving in the same direction.

"You okay?" Booth asked suddenly, as if to cut the heavy quietness in the car.

Brennan nodded. "I'm fine. I was just…I was wondering how you know Angela."

He didn't answer, and Brennan was sure he hadn't heard her. Finally, he answered, "She was a local artist…she had a lot of talent, was going places. I went to some of her shows, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we'd be seeing her stuff on the television, museums, you name it. She was that good. Sometimes she even helped out at the FBI, drawing victims' faces."

Brennan paused for a moment before asking awkwardly, "Can you…can you describe her personality to me. I would like to know if she's still the same Angela."

Booth bit his lower lip. Slowly, he started, "I only met her a few times…but, the impression I got, she was very _human. _She cared about other people…she lived life and took every moment she had. I guess, some people make life out to be a long journey to death, but Angela was one of the few who looked at it as a thrill ride. She liked to have fun, and she was very outgoing...she was beautiful."

"That's my Angela," Brennan conceded. Booth looked over and saw tears streaming down her face.

"What's wrong?' Booth asked gently, no longer caring about the fact that the woman next to him was frightening at times.

Brennan turned, blue eyes red-rimmed and still crying silently. "You're talking about Angela in the past tense. She's dead, isn't she?"

Booth made a left turn without answering her. He parked shortly after, keeping his eyes on the steering wheel. Brennan looked out the window, and saw the local cemetery.

* * *

Things shouldn't have been like this. The sun was too bright. The birds too loud, and the breezes just right. No, this was the moment that should've matched with Brennan's own storms and darkness. Brennan's outside surroundings should have been the exact same as the turmoil warring inside her. Irony could never have been so cruel to her as in the instant her eyes met the lettering on the headstone in front of her feet. 

**Angela "Pearly Gates" Montenegro**

**March 4th 1980--January 12th 2007**

_To see a world in a grain of sand,_

_And a heaven in a wildflower,_

_Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,_

_And eternity in an hour._

Booth watched as Brennan sank to her knees, her chest heaving. Her hand shot out, tracing the lettering on the headstone, resting briefly on the carved angels. He heard her murmur as the tears fell freely, "Angela, what happened to you…" She turned towards Booth, looking up at him and shaking her head as if to ask _why? _Booth shifted uncomfortably as Brennan's stare penetrated to his bones.

"How did this happen?" Brennan forced herself to ask. She wiped her tears, and placed her head against the cold stone.

Softly, Booth explained, "She was Howard Epps' fiancé…and first victim."

Brennan jerked her head up, mortified at this new knowledge.

Continuing, almost apologetically, "Like I said before, you were Epps' second victim…you were their wedding planner--"

"Stop saying that! Haven't I convinced you that I'm not a goddamned wedding planner?" She stood quickly and marched up to Booth. Almost yelling, Brennan declared sharply, "I am Dr. Temperance Brennan! Angela isn't dead, and Epps is! I am Dr. Temperance Brennan! Oh god, how could she be so stupid, Angela was so much smarter than that…how could she love a man like Epps…she was supposed to be with Hodgins…"

"Look, I don't know what you want me to say, but these are the facts: in whatever 'world' you were in while you were comatose does not exist. I'm sorry, but this is reality," Booth tried once again. Brennan shook her head violently in protest.

"No--" she stepped up to Booth and shoved him. He let her. "No! I _know_ bones, and you damn well know it. I _know_ who you are, and I know about your past, how could I make that up? How could that be?"

"I don't know--"

She stormed away from him, furious and fighting another onslaught of tears. He followed her, calling out, "Where are you going?"

"To the car," she answered as she picked up her pace. She stopped suddenly, and this time he was the one who almost collided into her. She stood firmly, but her voice shook with raw emotions. "You don't know what's going on either, so don't you **dare** try to tell me something you don't believe in yourself."

Booth was left speechless as she turned from him. As an afterthought she added, "That isn't you, Booth. And that's something we both know."


	8. Playing With Fire

_AN__: Because of the long wait, I combined two chapters to make one long one. I apologize again for keeping you all waiting._

**Chapter Eight: Playing with Fire**

"_You don't know what's going on either, so don't you __**dare**__ try to tell me something you don't believe in yourself..."_

To Booth, it seemed like the beautiful woman staring blankly out the window was becoming scarier by the minute. She had suddenly turned into a mind reader, he mused mirthlessly. Booth sighed softly and drove slowly through the crowded street, collecting his disjointed and confused thoughts. He couldn't acknowledge or believe that Brennan was a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in D.C.—she wasn't some person who dropped out of the sky, Booth and the F.B.I had proof that she lived in D.C. all her life. Her spacious apartment ten blocks from the White House had been cleared out and contained new habitants since her two-year coma, and her wedding business was placed in the hands of her partner, a woman named Margot Rigby. She had friends and once had a family, and they were all testaments to the life Brennan didn't believe she lived. It wasn't as if she were a Jane Doe without any identification, and evidence of a life. Temperance Brennan had existed, just like any other normal person, and her life was one that was documented. On top of that, the museum just didn't exist. To him, declaring none of that happened was like claiming the sun and the universe revolved around the Earth.

But yet…that didn't explain the things she knew. His doubts about her knowledge of bones had vanished. Though her inside scoop on Booth's own past was disturbing, he had grown used to the odd feeling. It was if they were the friends and partners she claimed them to be. Though that was impossible, he was beginning to like the idea that somehow, he would have trusted her enough with his darkest and most haunting memories. Brennan was right—he didn't know what to believe.

He turned back to her, and saw she was fighting tears. Her eyes had grown blurry red, and her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. Gently, Booth asked, "Are you going to be alright?"

She seemed to snap out of her dazedness, and Booth's question provided a helping hand in the battle of her silent breakdown. Sighing, Brennan fought off the tears one last time and answered, "Yes. It's just…yes, I'll be fine."

"And this…this is your definition of fine?"

Her hands loosened, and she exhaled wearily. "Angela isn't dead. She's with Hodgins. Happy. Alive."

Booth bit back an argument. He had just shown her the poor woman's grave. It was in the case file—Angela was the first victim of Epps…_when in the hell did Jack come into this?_

Brennan continued, "I know this isn't real. It just can't be. But I do know one thing, or at least I think I know. It's more of a feeling, even though I don't take much stock in things without hard physical evidence, I have nothing else to go on."

"And what's that?" Booth asked evenly. They were still both obviously and irrevocably bewildered with each other.

Brennan paused before finishing, "I need to help you catch Epps. If one wants to find any rationality in this backwards world, it would be to kill Epps. That's the way it happened, and that's the way it should be. Maybe once that's done…" She trailed off, not able to imagine how this would all be fixed. She felt Booth become tense.

"When did killing Epps come into the picture?" he asked calmly. Brennan frowned. She could feel the hate radiating off of him: wouldn't he have rather have seen Epps dead anyway?

"You accidentally dropped Epps off a building."

"How in the hell can you 'accidentally' drop someone?" Booth questioned. He thought the image over in his head, and Brennan saw him sneer. "A fitting end," Booth said quietly, "even in your backwards reality check, I'm the one to kill him. I'll let you know something Tempe, if that were ever the case, there would be no accident."

Brennan felt a strike of fear. This wasn't the Booth she knew. "You didn't want to let go because you didn't want to be like him."

A vein throbbed in his head and he answered stiffly, "I don't give a damn if killing him means I'm becoming a monster like him."

Brennan shook her head and asked, "Did Epps do something personal to you? I mean, he sent Angela a heart, poisoned Cam, and a bomb almost blew up Zach, and he threatened Parker—that was the name of your son—and even then, you didn't have the intention of killing that bastard."

Booth was silent for what seemed like an infinite amount of time. Barely audible, Booth answered, "No. Epps didn't do anything to me." He then added, "If I had a child, and Epps threatened him, I don't see how I could not have gone after him. Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

Taken aback by his response, Brennan struggled to understand why Booth despised Epps so much. Surely Booth has dealt with worse human beings before. As if he knew what she was thinking, he explained, "I hate him because he thinks he can get away with it. There are so many people he's hurt. Life is too precious, and he's taken those lives away as if he were some kind of god. It should never be that way."

Brennan wasn't even close to being satisfied with his answer. She felt knots in her stomach, knowing something more sinister was lurking within Booth's mind. She knew intuitively that this wasn't the reason, but she realized trying to delve further wouldn't do any good. Blandly, Brennan forced herself to agree, "Yea." She wanted to get as far away from this line of conversation as possible.

"So what's your grand plan? How are we going to catch Epps?" Booth sighed, suddenly exhausted. Brennan felt herself become calm. He seemed to be normal Booth again, not scary doppelganger Booth.

Brennan thought a few moments before asking Booth, "Am I the only survivor of Epps' attacks?"

Booth nodded in affirmative.

"Does he know I'm walking, talking, and thinking?"

"Why do you think we're taking you to a safehouse? We want to make sure he doesn't find you. I know what you're thinking—I am not going to use you as bait, and I sure as hell am not changing my mind. There has to be another way. I am not going to stand on the sidelines and watch while you put yourself in danger," Booth declared, his voice strong and firm. For once, Brennan smiled slightly. She was starting to notice he was becoming more like the Booth she knew.

"You're right. He would come after me, and finish the job. In the hospital I was protected, not to mention I was as good as dead anyway," Brennan stated. "Which is why I'm sure Deputy Dir. Saroyan wouldn't mind."

Booth slammed on the brakes and demanded, "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"You might want to stop jamming traffic, you're making drivers angry."

Growling, Booth pushed the gas again, ignoring honking horns and asked irritatingly, "You're going to go over my head on this one, aren't you?"

"Did you stop and think that all his attention would be focused on me? That he wouldn't be busy killing other innocent people?" Brennan pointed out.

Booth shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "How are you certain that he'll come after you?"

"Past history," Brennan said simply. "Trust me on this."

"I don't like it. Not at all. We are definitely playing with fire."

Brennan leaned back into her seat as an unspoken answer passed between them. Booth might not have agreed with the plan, but Brennan knew he trusted and believed her enough not to argue it further.

* * *

"_Serial killer Howard Epps is still on the loose, and authorities are none closer to apprehending the murderer of nearly one hundred people in the nation's capital…"_

In a small, cramped apartment in the worst neighborhood of D.C. the news broadcast was the only thing to be heard. Even the crackheads and the prostitutes one room over were silent, a rare occurrence. Inside the domicile one would find a television, a chair, and a bed with one bathroom. It was home, and it was one dark place to be. Though the man crouched back in the chair was disgusted by the conditions, it was the only place he could be. And as per what the reporter was claiming, he'd be stuck in D.C.'s hellhole for a little while longer.

Howard Epps leaned toward the small thirteen-inch television and grinned wickedly. Yes, he might be living spartanly, but screwing over the police force and continuing making the history books was well worth it. _"Agent Booth…what a pitiful excuse as a 'protector'. He must be having a breakdown by now, after two years of dead ends._ A glow of satisfaction filled his insides. He had no quarrel with the agent. He just happened to be the unlucky S.O.B. who took the case. Epps supposed that's what made everything more enjoyable.

"…_but tonight, we have news that one of Epps' victims has survived."_

Epps' head shot up, alarm freezing every nerve.

"_Two years ago, Temperance Brennan, a wedding planner here in D.C. was the second victim of Howard Epps. She was arranging the ceremony between Epps and first victim, Angela Montenegro."_

"That bitch is in a coma," Epps snapped at the television. "She's just as good as dead, who gives a damn?"

"_Ms. Brennan survived and was comatose for two years. In a shocking medical miracle, she had woken, and is already discharged from the hospital."_

Epps became very still.

"_We were able to contact Ms. Brennan for a statement, and she boldly commented, 'I feel fine, like nothing ever happened. I am shocked at what has occurred since my attack, and by the tragedy in D.C. I feel for the families of loved ones who have experienced the works of a mentally unstable, evil man. But let this be a testament to Epps—he is flawed, sloppy, and inept, and he can be caught. I would not be alive if I was wrong."_

If minds were physical, Epps would have just snapped his. "You shouldn't have said that," Epps said darkly. He was inept? Sloppy? After two years of calculating, two years of not getting caught. His IQ was well-above genius, and a simpleton of a wedding planner was taunting him on national television. A little voice of sanity in the dark recesses of his mind screamed that finishing the woman off could get him caught. He shook his head, tossing off the worries. He hadn't been discovered yet. And it would never happen, so help him God.

"You shouldn't have said that," Epps growled, furious. He stood abruptly, knocking the chair over. He had work to do.

* * *

"You shouldn't have said that," Booth shook his head as he watched the set-up newscast. Picking up the remote in the secluded safehouse an hour from D.C., he switched off the television and looked at Brennan, grimacing. 

She shrugged her shoulders and answered, "It's what the plan was. We need him to come after me."

Hodgins came up to Booth and stated, "She's right man. I can sleep easy tonight knowing Epps isn't going to be killing someone else."

"You don't know that," Booth pointed out. "He might not take the bait. Not to mention Tempe's under our protection. What's he going to do? Walk into the Bureau and ask, 'Excuse me, I would like to know the whereabouts of the one woman I didn't kill'?"

Brennan supplied, "I'm not staying here forever. I'm coming back into D.C. to help identify the Jane Doe you have from Epps. He knows I'm with you, he isn't stupid."

"Did I tell you I hated this whole thing?"

"Multiple times."

Hodgins glanced at his watch and replied, "Is it alright if I leave you two alone? I don't want to come back here in the morning and discover that one of our own agents ended up killing her. You two fight like a married couple."

Booth shot him a glare and Hodgins smirked in return. "I'm gonna head out with the other agents. You know what to do if that bastard magically shows up. 'Night guys."

Brennan gave a little wave and Booth nodded. Within minutes, only the two occupied the house, minus three additional agents guarding the outside perimeter. An awkward silence filled the air, and Brennan sifted uncomfortably. Booth cleared his throat and suggested, "We should probably get some sleep. I have a feeling today's going to be a long one."

Brennan stood, and noticed that there was only one bedroom. Booth offered her a small smirk and said, "Don't worry. I got the couch. Get some sleep, Tempe."

Brennan murmured a good night before heading off to the bedroom. She didn't look back at Booth, because she felt a pang of longing. She wished he would call her Bones again.

* * *

She heard screams. 

Brennan bolted in the bed, her heart rate pounding. It was raining outside, and for a moment she thought she was dreaming. Why had she heard yelling? Surely Epps hadn't found her already? She listened intently and held her breath. Infinity passed before her straining ears picked up groans from the living room. Fear and adrenaline shocked her system and she leapt out of bed. Something was wrong with Booth, and he obviously needed help.

Creeping across the room after grabbing a baseball bat for protection, Brennan was careful not to step on the creaking floorboards. Once her feet touched carpet, she picked up her speed, terrified at what she was about to see. Pushing herself against the wall, she left the corridor and entered the living room, baseball bat poised for a hit. Even in the darkness, she could make out Booth's body on the couch, under a thin blanket.

He groaned, and thrashed to the side, breathing harshly. He was murmuring, and his eyes were shut tightly. Brennan lowered the bat and sighed. He was having nightmares. Turning the lights on the dim setting, she wondered briefly if she should wake him. Deciding it was better to irritate him than keep him stuck in hell, Brennan walked over and gently touched his shoulder.

"Booth," she whispered.

She felt him stiffen, and she tried again. "Booth?"

His eyes snapped open, and his arms shot out to grab her. Before she knew it, she was flipped onto the couch, his hands digging into her flesh. She gasped and he demanded, "Why Parker!"

"Booth! Wake up! It's Tempe," Brennan shouted. She gripped his arms and dug her fingers into his arms. "Damn it, Booth, wake up!"

She felt his arms slacken, and his eyes blinked slowly. In confusion, he shook his head and asked, "What…huh?"

Brennan rubbed her arms, and said stiffly, "You were having a nightmare."

Booth's eyes widened, and then narrowed when he saw Brennan holding her arms. "Did I do that to you?"

"I shouldn't have startled you like that," Brennan answered his question. Booth grimaced and apologized wearily, "Tempe, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you…" he went to inspect her arms, but she pulled away.

Getting up, Brennan said quietly, "I'm just going to go back to sleep. You didn't hurt me, Seeley."

Bewildered by her reaction, Booth dumbly answered, "Okay…"

Brennan almost didn't make it to her bedroom before letting the tears slip. Her heart felt an enormous amount of sorrow, and it was if it were ripping apart beneath her skin. _This_ was one of the many reasons why she didn't want children.

"Parker, what happened to you?"

* * *

Special Agent Jack Hodgins didn't know what to expect when he drove slowly up the secluded driveway of the safe house. He thought wryly by the way his best friend and partner was going toe to toe with the unusual Ms. Tempe Brennan, emphasis on the 'unusual'. By what Booth had told him, Hodgins wouldn't even want to be in the same room with Brennan. Her uncanny ability to just _know_ about bones—and Booth's past—gave him the shivers. At the same time however, he was admiring her ability to keep composure. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with a sobbing puddle of an insane woman. He'd take creepy over crazy any day. 

He nodded to the tired agents outside the house, assuring them that someone else would take over and relieve them later. Entering the house, he found an exhausted Booth sitting at the kitchen counter, clutching a cup of coffee as if it were his lifeline. His eyes rose when he saw small bluish bruises running up Booth's arm.

"Dude, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with her," Hodgins ventured.

Booth shrugged his shoulders, "Bad night. I was having trouble sleeping."

"So she attacked you?"

Without answering, Booth stood up and said, "Jack, I gotta get some rest back at my house. Can you stay here for a few hours before I come back?"

"Yeah…sure buddy," Hodgins answered cautiously. "Where is the good Tempe Brennan?"

"Getting dressed, I think," Booth replied. "You know what to do if that bastard shows up," Booth echoed Hodgins' words from last night. Hodgins grimaced as a look of sheer anger passed his eyes.

"Booth…"

But his partner was already out the door. Hodgins shook his head sadly and rubbed his forehead. A cough made him spin around. Brennan was leaning against the doorway, appearing just as exhausted as Booth. Hodgins' immediately say the same type of bruising on her arms and he could tell she had cried earlier.

"What in the hell happened last night?" Hodgins demanded. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Brennan reassured. She pulled down the long sleeves of a borrowed outfit to cover up the signs of a struggle.

"Are the clothes okay, I mean do they fit?" Hodgins asked quickly, not sure if he wanted to know what happened after he left.

"Yes, they fit. Thank you. And to answer your other question, Booth was having a nightmare. I tired to wake Booth up, but I ended up scaring him. Hence the bruises."

"Oh. A nightmare. He's been having a lot of those lately," Hodgins murmured.

Brennan stared intently at Booth's partner. "I need you to tell me what happened to Parker."

Hodgins looked to the ceiling. "That's a long story, babe."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Brennan felt herself smile sadly at Hodgins pet name. Even his mannerisms were still the same.

"Booth told me he didn't have a son, but in his nightmare last night, he was screaming Parker's name," Brennan said slowly.

Hodgins was quiet for a moment. He motioned to the door and said, "Let's take a walk. You should know how important nailing Epps is to him. To all of us."

* * *

Brennan watched with an eerie feeling as Hodgins stopped walking with her and picked up a furry caterpillar. He shrugged, almost embarrassed before placing the insect in a leaf, "Sorry. I have a thing with bugs." 

"I know," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.

Hodgins snorted before they continued up the path. "You know, you scare me sometimes. I believe you when you say 'I know'. You scare Booth too."

"I understand that."

Hodgins shoved his hands into his pocket and added, "He's taken to you, though."

Brennan looked at him incredulously. "I thought you just told me I scare him."

"Yeah, but trust me on this. He's in homicide, yet he's the one protecting a witness. That's someone else's job."

"Okay, but that could because I'm extremely valuable to the case," Brennan pointed out.

Hodgins boldly countered, "Sorry to burst your bubble, but he's told me how he feels about you. You can creep him out, be he does care about you. He does have this sense that somehow, if it were possible, he could totally see you as his partner. Booth already trusts you, and that's something he doesn't give: one has to earn his trust."

Brennan started to protest the absurdity of his statements, but halted. She felt a swell of relief, and of something else. She couldn't name it, but it was comforting with several twists of melancholy. She wished now more than ever to be 'back' with Booth, in a world where they were partners, in a world where she wouldn't be saying his caring was absurd.

"Why are you telling me this?" Brennan asked quietly. Gratefully.

"Because of what I'm going to tell you about Parker. What I say doesn't leave this spot," Hodgins said grimly.

Brennan nodded, and Hodgins' voice turned tight with emotion. "Parker. Five years old. Epps murdered him six months ago. He snatched Booth's son from a park."

Brennan's hands traveled to her mouth, disgusted and sorrow plaguing her insides. Never before had she wished she was wrong in her earlier suspicions.

"The only reason why Booth is still on the case is because there was no conclusive evidence that Epps did it. But we know. We all know the truth."

Brennan whispered, "How can Booth keep working like that…knowing what Epps did…"

Hodgins rubbed his forehead. "I'm his partner. His best friend. And even I can't get him to talk about what happened. Booth hasn't grieved yet, and that's the worst thing someone can do to themselves…after they lose a loved one like that. To anyone who doesn't know, like yourself, Parker never existed. He's been living in this state resembling a zombie. His only goal is to get Epps—and I think when he means by get, it's the same thing as kill."

Brennan shuddered. It suddenly had grown very cold.

Hodgins stared intently at her. "I have a feeling this whole thing is going to end soon. One way or another, someone is going to get hurt. I've done all I can for Booth."

Struggling to understand what Hodgins was trying to imply, Brennan prompted, "…and I'm supposed to get him to…"

"No. You're not going to talk to him, confront him about Parker…he's not ready to accept what happened. When he does…it'll be messy. We all know that. I can't be with him all the time," Hodgins countered.

"Okay…I'm sorry, but I don't understand," Brennan apologized.

"If Booth is the one who faces Epps in the end, I need you to be there to make sure he doesn't go down that road. The one where he'll completely snap and be consumed by whatever has been eating away at his soul these past six months. Whether it's anger, sorrow, or revenge…we can't lose Booth to that ugly world. Do you understand what I'm asking?" Hodgins finished softly.

A gust of wind surrounded Brennan and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She met Hodgins pleading eyes and she nodded.

"I understand."


	9. Parker

_AN: I would like to thank cayoesqueleto, HauntedPast, EternalConfusion, Mockingbird84, Frona, Andromeda03, Bones4Ever, and whitelite for the wonderful reviews last chapter!!!_

_AN: Warning: expletive used. On a final note, Bones still isn't mine. _

**Chapter Nine: Parker**

_Think logically, Bren. You haven't done that in awhile…_

Brennan glanced over at Booth, who silently drove down the driveway of the safehouse. Looking back, she saw Hodgins pace nervously in front of the house, probably regretting sharing Booth's darkest secret with her. Brennan leaned back and sighed. The world was upside down and she was still right side out.

_Sully's a doctor. Angela is dead. Hodgins is a Fed. Zach's an author. Cam is Booth's boss. The Jeffersonian is a mall. I'm a wedding planner with an uncanny ability to read bones and people's pasts, I'm currently driving to D.C. with a mentally unstable agent in order to get a notorious serial killer to come after me, and somehow, have yet to explain why I'm not a vegetable after supposedly being in a two-year coma._

Brennan narrowed her eyes. _Fuck logic. _

Booth looked over and saw an expression of amusement and absurdness cross Brennan's face. Casually, he asked, "You okay Tempe?" _Am I missing a joke or something…?_

"Sure," Brennan snorted. "Everything's fine. Absolutely picture-perfect."

Booth smiled slightly. "You gonna be this charming all the way to the Capitol?"

Sensing the relieve in tension, Brennan mocked insult, and replied, "I am charming: just what exactly are you implying?"

"Fine, you're charming, in a weird and creepily frightening way," Booth admitted with a smirk. Brennan rolled her eyes, but was secretly basking in the fact that she managed to get the car atmosphere more relaxed. She was struck for a moment, at how close she felt to being partners with Booth again.

"Hey Tempe, I have money in the dash for the toll road. Can you get for me, please?" Booth suddenly remembered as he pulled onto the highway.

Brennan nodded and opened the latch. Thumbing through envelopes, she searched for the coins when her hands touched something soft. Lifting up a stack of papers, her heart stopped as her eyes met the brown furry stuffed monkey doll. Pity gripped her insides in a steel vice. _Oh, Parker…_

"I'm pretty sure it's in there," Booth commented, wondering why it was taking so long to find the money. He reached over but Brennan stopped him quickly. "I found them," Brennan blurted out. Shaking her head, she pushed aside the deceased child's doll and found several quarters. Placing the coins in Booth's hands without meeting his eyes, Brennan fought an internal battle.

_Don't say anything, don't say anything, he obviously doesn't know it's there. You are not supposed to confront him about Parker!_

"Earth to Tempe Brennan," Booth chuckled nervously, "you looked like you've just seen a ghost."

Brennan gulped and contested, "Spirits don't exist. So I couldn't have seen something that I didn't want to see."

_Way to go. Your IQ is above genius, but you can't act normal and "play it cool". Pull yourself together._

Booth shrugged and diverted his eyes back to the road. Brennan saw the D.C.'s skyline off in the distance, and tried to focus on that instead of the nagging urge to pull out the stuffed animal. In the back of her mind, she truly believed that it would be better to get Booth to admit to her that Parker was real. That he had a son. Someone he loved very much: the child he lost.

_You promised…_

Booth turned off an exit and after several turns, they were within the outskirts of the city. He groaned in frustration as they were led onto a detour route, since the direct road to the heart of Washington was under construction.

She laughed at him, and he shrugged back, "Yeah, like they're working fast anyway."

In the next instant, the merriment was zapped out of Booth. She heard him take a sharp breath, and she shot him a questioning expression. He didn't acknowledge Brennan, and he continued staring straight out. She followed his penetrating gaze and saw a church loom in the distance, surrounded by a small, almost cramped-in cemetery. Booth became very still, almost as if he was having a silent heart attack. Looking back to the church, she saw that it was clearly a Catholic institute. The gray slate and the stained glass windows depicting saints were juxtaposed against the dreary background of weathered tombstones. The steeples pointed high into the sky, as if they were hands reaching to the heavens. Again, it was a stark contrast to the morbid surrounding. She supposed that plenty more of churches were surrounded by dead patrons. Why would the Church of Saint Maria Faustina be any more disturbing than thousands of other similar scenes that she had encountered? She threw a furtive glance back at Booth as he broke out into a cold sweat, his eyes filling with sorrow. Brennan held back a gasp as she understood instantly. Without any second thoughts, Brennan opened the dash and gingerly pulled out the doll.

"Booth look at me," Brennan demanded gently.

Jumping out of his private purgatory, Booth did what she asked…and found himself in a nightmarish hell. Parker's beloved doll stared back at him, clutched in the hands of Brennan. Booth swerved into a side street alongside of the graveyard.

"Where did you get that?" Booth demanded firmly.

Locking eyes, Brennan answered, "It was in the dash I found it earlier. It was Parker's, wasn't it?"

Booth shook his head vehemently. "How many times have I told you—"

"That you don't have a son?" Brennan finished. "Booth, I'm not ignorant. You saw this church and almost had a coronary. Your son is buried here, isn't he?"

Booth placed his head on the wheel, and continued shaking his head. "You don't know a damned thing about my life!"

Brennan wrinkled her brow and bit her lower lip. She thrust the doll in Booth's face and urged, "Look at it, Booth. I can't possibly imagine what you're going through. No parent should have to bury their child. Some pain is never…can never be fulfilled. Blocking what happened to Parker is an evitable way to hold onto that pain, and it's not healthy. You have to face reality. You should have never put Parker to rest: but you shouldn't be frozen in this state because of this. Howard Epps deserves to die for what he did, but it is not up to you to be the executioner. I am so scared for you right now."

"You're right," Booth cut in softly. Brennan frowned as Booth leapt out of the vehicle, slamming the door with shuddering force. Before Brennan comprehended what was going on, Booth had already flung her door open and yanked Brennan out of the car. Gripping her already sore arm, he dragged her roughly towards the cemetery gates.

"You're right!" he raged furiously. "Howard Epps needs to die! He murdered…" She saw his chest heave, and his hands tightened around her arm. Brennan didn't even realize she was still holding onto the monkey.

Booth choked out "H-he took my son. And shot him. But that bastard…he hurt my boy. As much as he could. There were…Christ!" Six months of pent up emotion came cascading out. Brennan was helpless against the flood as she was pulled toward the center of the cemetery. She could have fought him off easily now: but she knew she was in the middle of his long-awaited breakdown.

"Bruises and cuts. Everywhere. That son of a bitch tor-tortured a FIVE year old. My son. My Parker!" Booth stopped suddenly and pulled Brennan forward. Looking down her heart shattered all over again. She was standing above Parker Booth's burial site, a pitiful headstone marking his date of death and birth.

Clearly fighting tears, but losing the battle pitifully, he cried, "You're right Brennan—you don't know how this is like. He should have grown up. He should have had seventy more years. There's a part of me that's just gone. Completely gone."

Booth sat on his haunches and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook and his body was wracked with sobs that had been bottled up for half a year. Brennan kneeled, her own eyes watering at the intensity of Booth's anguish. She placed a hand on his back, and he turned to her. He hugged her close, as if she were his only lifeline.

"Epps is a dead man," he whispered raggedly into her hair. "Parker was my son. I was supposed to protect him. And he's gone now."

Brennan closed her eyes in helplessness. At a loss for words, she handed Booth the doll. He took it hesitantly, as if he were afraid to break it. After a moment, he squeezed it to his chest. He babbled apologies, "Christ, I shouldn't have done this in front of you...I'm sorry for pulling you like that. I hope I didn't hurt you…"

Brennan's brows scrunched up once again. She lifted the sleeves of her sweater and saw that the bruising from the night before was completely gone. What was more was that nothing hurt. She felt no physical pain whatsoever.

"What is it?" Booth asked as he stood. He awkwardly held onto the doll, and shifted nervously as his breathing somewhat steadied. He turned away for a moment, regaining his composure while Brennan inspected her arms.

"My arms should be tender," Brennan observed calmly. "It's like my injuries never happened."

Booth cringed momentarily at the use of the word "injuries". Forgetting the uncomfortable atmosphere his confession had made, he asked cautiously, "Are you trying to tell me you have crazy healing powers or something?"

Brennan shook her head. "I'm trying to tell you that I suddenly don't feel physical pain." Walking across the lane, Brennan held out her arm, deciding she had nothing to lose by testing her theory.

Booth called after, his voice still hoarse from seeing Parker's grave. "What the hell are you doing?"

Without warning, Brennan brought her wrist down on the edge of a solid stone grave. Booth's jaw dropped as he called out, half in shock, "What the hell?" The pain that still flooded his veins met confusion in a head-on collision. Booth shook his head to make sure he was still seeing clearly, and that he hadn't totally fallen off the deep end. Brennan inspected her wrist as Booth marched over to her, tucking the monkey carefully into his pocket. It seemed surreal that one moment he was breaking down and the next he was yelling at a crazy woman. _What a screwed up world I live in_.

"That should have sprained my wrist, or at the very least, left some bruising," Brennan announced. Breathing out in amazement, she commented, "How odd."

Booth stared at her, chewing the inside of his cheek. "You telling me you're Wonder Woman now? And could you have pinched yourself or something instead, in case your theory didn't work? How would I explain to Cam that you decided to slam your arm into stone?"

Brennan shrugged, still not believing the new phenomena she was experiencing. Booth cleared his throat and said quietly, "We need to go…"

He paused and turned back to his son's grave. "You should have gotten hurt. You're almost making me have doubts about my own world now."

Brennan was startled by his admission. She looked at him, searching for an explanation. He lowered his voice as he came back to Parker's grave. "You defy reality. And…and the thought that in your world, Parker is alive…well, that about says it all, don't you think?"

He pulled the monkey out of his pocket and held it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he remembered back to when he took Parker to the zoo, and how much he loved the chimps and gorillas. Parker's smile was bright and innocent, his laugh infectious and his heart filled with a love for the world that only a child could have. He felt his breathing hitch, but he was able to control his emotions this time around. Brennan watched as he opened his eyes and set the doll on the headstone.

Booth stepped back and whispered, "I wish I was the one who had been in a coma. Your version of the world is so much better than mine."

He walked back to the car abruptly, but Brennan didn't miss the quietly uttered _'I want to believe. God in Heaven I want to…"_

Brennan folded her arms over her chest before following. She knew immediatly that Booth was still holding back a deadly emotion--grief, mixed with rage. She could see the poison radiating from his body. The pain and sorrow from his son's death still weighed heavily on her friend's mind, and he walked the gait of a helpless and defeated man. There was no doubt in her mind that Booth would kill Epps without second thoughts. She was so close to losing him to that world. Her attempt to get Booth to grieve worked, but in return, she knew it would bring him closer to a true breakdown. It was science--every action must have an opposite and equal reaction.

"This is not good..."

Swallowing hard, Brennan followed Booth. She prayed to a god she didn't believe in, hoping for the coming end of this nightmare.


	10. Chapter 10

Due to tragic events, the author of this fanfic will not be able to post any new chapters for several weeks. Thank you and apologies for any inconveniences.


	11. One Thing Right

AN: To answer why I haven't been able to write anything—I've lost someone. What more is there to say?

**Chapter Ten: One Thing Right**

One hour had passed since Brennan confronted Booth about Parker. Fifty-six minutes had slowly ticked by since an uttered word filled the car. Adding fuel to an already tension-filled fire, no sooner than when Booth and Brennan trudged weary and battle-worn into F.B.I. headquarters, Dr. Riley came barreling into them. "There's someone alive!" he breathed out hastily. His wispy hair had drifted sideways, giving him the appearance of a comb-over. On any other day Booth would have chuckled. Instead, Booth froze in his tracks and Brennan frowned, not quite sure if she heard Riley's frantic statements.

"Who's alive?" Brennan demanded.

"Epps is keeping someone alive," Riley explained as he pulled at Brennan's arm. He led them quickly back into the morgue, clarifying, "After you found the gravel imbedded, there was another identical "air" pocket in her skull. It wasn't gravel and it sure as hell wasn't space. It was a note—a riddle." Coming down the stairs Booth and Brennan could hear the cacophony of raised voices and frantic brainstorming. Riley finished, "I found it fifteen minutes ago. I've never seen my morgue room so filled. We have Deputy Director Saroyan, field agents who worked the case, cryptologists—"

"Why the hurry?" Booth managed before pushing his way to the autopsy table, feeling idiotic that he had to ask the question in the first place. He knew full well why—Epps was baiting them with a live victim. He had the dreading feeling that the sudden full-throttle mission initiative in the Epps case was due to a severely strict timeline, and the price would be yet another life. The million dollar question was: how much time did they have left? Cam caught sight of Brennan and helped her to the edge of the table, where the offending note lay. Cam whispered harshly, "I really wish like hell you have some idea what this means. We have two hours before another woman is killed." Brennan felt a flood of anxiety and real fear fill her system. _2 hours? And no one knows what Epps means? _Brennan quickly pulled on latex gloves and requested, "Give me the note."

The roar of voices lowered to curious and anticipating murmurs. Booth stilled as Brennan read aloud: "Hello, my name is Parker. Ask me how to solve this case." Brennan swallowed as Booth paled, and as recollections invaded her thoughts. _Epps wasn't talking about Parker then…can it be as easy now? _Brennan continued reading as her mind put the pieces together subconsciously, "You have until noontime 10/10/07 to save Miss Schnee Hitze Regen-Schneeregen."

"Please tell me you know what the hell he's saying," Booth grit out, fighting tooth and nail not to suffer another collapse. _Parker. This bastard is evil in its purest form. It's a goddamn miracle I haven't shot someone or myself yet. And now…someone's gonna die in two hours of we don't do at least one thing right. _

"Please, Tempe…" Booth pleaded quietly. The room became silent as a small hesitant grin graced Brennan's face. Cam nodded, "You know what it is, don't you?"

Booth felt cautioned hope loosen his rock-bottom hopelessness as Brennan turned directly to him and announced confidently, "I know where to go."

Booth smiled grimly, "I think it's about time you drove."

* * *

Speeding down the grittiest streets in DC, Brennan explained to Booth, "It's a little bit different from last time, but in a way it's better. We don't have to travel all the way to Virginia. He didn't use the name 'Parker' because of your son—he's talking about the Parkertown district west of where your latest victim was found."

Booth stopped relaying information to following squad cars and asked slowly, "Wait, I never told you about Parkertown? As far as I'm concerned, I don't even know if Parkertown existed in whatever reality you dropped in from."

Brennan did a double take and sputtered, "You finally believe me?"

"No. Yes. No. Hell, I don't know. Now isn't the best time to discuss this. How do you know where to go, and where we are heading, please," Booth replied stoically.

"I did some late night reading—I thought that since the last time we had to catch Epps location mattered, it might again. So all I did was find specifically where your Jane Doe was found. The kindergarten playground wasn't only to fit his sick motives, but the dumpsite district—Parkertown—would be near where he is."

Booth looked at her steadily. "Where we're going—could it be his hideout? Could he be that stupid?"

Brennan sped around a corner, thanking pure luck that the streets were familiar. In past cases with Booth—in a time and a place where she was a partner with him—she'd visited the area many a time to solve another faceless victim's identity—whether they were slain prostitutes or runaways. They were the type of people found in this part of town. It would be logical that Epps would feel at home here. Going back to Booth's question, she answered, "Not stupid. Just over confident. And the girl's name isn't a real name. It's all German for 'rain, snow, sleet, and heat' and not necessarily in that order."

Booth jumped on the connection immediately. "It's the postman's creed or whatever. Neither rain, nor sleet or snow or heat of day…Jesus, Brennan. I think I know where the girl's at."

"The old post office. Yeah, this neighborhood exists where things are _normal_," Brennan stressed. But Booth was no longer listening. Brennan, with alarm, noticed his hand tightening around his gun holster. For the first time in a long while, he looked calm. Just as calm and peaceful before a hurricane destroyed everything in its path.

* * *

Keeping far ahead of backup, Booth and Brennan crept their way into the abandoned building. Booth's gun was already drawn, and his eyes scanned the darkness of the dank and rotting structure with deadly precision. Brennan whispered, "Where the hell are the rest of the agents?"

Booth, without looking at Brennan, hushed, "So we don't alarm anybody that might be here. The goal is to nail Epps, not give him a warning and time to disappear."

"But what if—"

"Shush. I think I hear something," Booth froze after cutting off Brennan. They strained their ears, and sure enough, a small and lonely wailing moan rose from above the rafters. Booth and Brennan strained their necks up, and with horror, Booth caught sight of a limp body swinging upside down. She was a dirty blonde no older than eighteen, and two things were for certain—she was injured, and she was terrified. Another wail escaped from a bloodied gag and Booth copied into his radio, "We have sight of the girl. She's alive and strung up from the ceiling. We're going to need backup in here now. Epps isn't here, we would have seen him by now…"

Booth ventured around the corner, trying to find a way to get to the teen. Brennan saw movement flicker in the darkness, and her eyes widened as a pipe was suddenly wielded like a baseball bat towards the back of Booth's head.

"Booth!" she called out just as Howard Epps leapt from a cubbyhole suspended above Booth's body. Instinctively, he ducked, and the pipe missed smashing into his skull. Instead, it clipped the side of his head, and the blood flowed out of Brennan's heart as she watched Booth sink to the cold floor, eliciting a gurgled moan. Brennan rushed to Booth's side, heedless of Epps now towering over her "partner's" motionless form, a pipe aimed to end the agent's life in a single blow. Brennan kicked out at Epps' back, hard where the kidneys would have been. She heard the rush of air as pain rocked his core, and as realization set in.

"You!" Epps growled as he got to his feet. Not pausing for a second, Brennan ducked and kicked Epps' feet from under him. He crashed to the ground once more, but swung the pipe as he did so. It connected with Brennan's shoulder and she groaned, biting back an expletive. Epps jumped to his feet again in almost surreal quickness, and lifted the pipe over his head to inflict mortal damage upon Brennan's bones. She rolled away as the metal crunched into the floor and got to a crouched position, ready for Epps' next attack.

Except, he had disappeared.

Brennan wiped the sweat and grime off her face as she carefully searched the darkness of the abandoned post office. She saw flashlights and heard the voices of backup, and she knew that Epps was long gone. Standing shakily, she crept over to Booth as she called in their location.

She shook him, and urged, "Come on, Booth, you're okay. Snap out of it…" Booth blinked and struggled to sit up. His hand went to his head and he cringed as he felt a split scalp.

"He got away, didn't he?" Booth asked, wheezing. There was a hopeless, defeated quality in Booth's voice, and Brennan's heart broke all over again.

"Well," she admitted, "we did one thing right. The girl is safe."

Booth sighed. "It's not enough."

Brennan nodded as she helped him to his feet. "I know, Booth. I know."


	12. Here Is Gone

**Chapter Twelve: Here Is Gone**

"You're lucky you weren't killed," Brennan said quietly as she helped lead Booth out of the abandoned post office, trailing after the team of paramedics carrying the young woman who survived her ordeal with Epps. Booth sighed heavily and leaned more on Brennan. Her eyes studied his wearied form with concern. Blood still trickled from his scalp, and he was even paler than before. Booth's face was gaunt with tension and still-restrained grief. She felt the sudden urge to hug him tightly and never let go. She wished to take him home and care for him, not as a partner, but as a friend. As someone who could hold him, as some one who could share the grief and exhaustion and pain, and between the two broken shells, they could manage to form a single, whole unit. She wanted to be the strong one; whenever Brennan broke, whenever her ability to compartmentalize failed, and she was _human_, Booth let her be _human_.

"You got that backwards, darlin'. If I were lucky, I'd be dead," Booth hinted finally. Brennan felt her stomach roil and the need to care for Booth intensified.

"You helped save that girl's life," Brennan urged. It was the only thing she could think of to reply.

"Great. Maybe I'll only get a minor term in Hell when I do croak," Booth replied flatly. He lifted his arm off her shoulder and trudged toward the waiting ambulance. Brennan paused and watch him leave, feeling useless and defeated. She heard quiet sobs coming from the other ambulance where the rescued girl was trying to retain grip on reality and not go into shock. Brennan's brow furrowed and she walked quickly to the girl being loaded into the back. Blood spattered her shirt from cuts, and her face was bruised, but she appeared to be in good health, considering the situation.

"What is your name," Brennan asked gently to the shaking young woman.

"Ju-Justine Chase," she replied as a blanket was placed on top of her.

"I just need to ask you two or three questions before you go to the hospital," Brennan said gently, but quickly.

"Ma'am, you're going to have to wait until—" a paramedic began to insist.

Brennan ignored the EMT and asked, "Where were you taken? I'm sorry, but I need to know now."

"School," the girl asked automatically, her eyes only giving away the dreading memories. The medics began lifting the stretcher.

"Did he take you anywhere?"

Justine closed her eyes and shook her head. "I think so. I think it was his house to get…chains," she choked out.

"Is there anything you can recall?" Brennan placed her hand on the railing of the stretcher, halting its progress to the back of the ambulance. She felt a paramedic firmly grip her shoulder.

"Ma'am!"

Brennan let go, sighing angrily. "I'm trying to catch a serial killer!" she snapped.

"And Ms. Chase is about to go into shock. You need to let her go."

"Wait…the gravel. The gravel in the driveway was sticky," Justine said as she was loaded in. "I was blindfolded when he led me, but I know the ground felt funny…"

Wordlessly, Brennan lifted the bottom of the blanket and inspected the soles of the shoes while ignoring the EMT's frustrated groan. Pulling a napkin from her pocket, Brennan picked off three tiny pieces of gravel from Justine's shoes.

"Thank you." Brennan locked eyes with the second survivor to date of Epps antics. "This will help."

"Just don't let him get me, please," Justine begged as the doors slammed shut. The sirens sounded and the ambulance sped from the post office. Brennan murmured under her breath, "I promise." _Seems like you're making promises left and right. You've already managed to break one by forcing Booth to admit Parker's death. Try to do better this time…_

_Booth._

_He's going to want to know what I've found, that is, if he doesn't walk out in front of a bus beforehand._

A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned, and found Booth already bandaged up.

"Aren't you concussed?" she demanded. "You should be under observation."

"Not for a minor concussion. Just don't let me go to sleep," Booth pointed out. He motioned with his chin and asked Brennan, "What did you find?"

Brennan held up the rocks. "Possibly an idea. I need someone to compare the gravel collected here to the gravel found in the Jane Doe with the riddle game."

"You got an idea brewing in that big brain of yours?" Booth implied. He handed the keys to Brennan and admitted almost sheepishly, "It's probably better if you drive."

"Well, let's just say I'm taking a liberty and jumping to conclusions about something," Brennan admitted. "I guess you can call it a shot in the dark, which, by the way, I hate doing without proper procedure, but I have hope backing it. That accounts for something in a situation like this."

"Hope," Booth said flatly. "Funny thing, I don't remember what that feels like."

* * *

Trotting down the corridor to the mortuary, Brennan held the samples collected at the post office like an athlete carrying the torch for the Olympics. Booth followed slowly behind, rubbing his pounding head. "I really don't want Riley getting his panties all up in a bundle for you walking in and taking over the room again. At this stage of the game, I'd think I'd have to shoot him."

Brennan smiled slightly. Taking advantage of the sudden burst of humor from Booth, she added, "I was thinking the same thing. Maybe it's better that I don't have a gun after all."

"Hell, you can have mine."

Brennan cast her eyes to the floor as the door to the mortuary drew near. _He said that to me after I broke Epps' wrist…it's only an echo now. _Opening the doors to the antiseptic smelling room, Brennan was relieved to find she and Booth would be alone until she called for assistance, preferably, Jake's over Riley's. Booth closed the door behind her, and stood stiffly in his place. Brennan pulled on gloves and began comparing the samples of gravel pulled out of the Jane Doe to the ones found on the bottom of Justine Chase's shoes. She sensed Booth waiting, perhaps struggling to get something off his chest.

"They appear the same," Brennan commented as she analyzed the evidence under the microscope. "I'm going to need a soil and rock analyst to figure out where this stuff came from, and if the two samples are one in the same after all. I am a forensic anthropologist, not a geologist. Could you call someone down who's qualified?"

"Don't know if the Bureau has a geologist on hand. Usually we go to universities or museums to get squints like that. I know we have one or two chemists…hold on." Booth brought out his cell.

Brennan felt another pang of sadness. Squints. She used to get annoyed when Booth called her that.

Booth shut his phone. "They said they'd look. Hopefully we'll have someone, we can't afford to lose anymore time. Another victim is due soon, especially since we botched Epps' plan to murder Justine Chase."

Brennan agreed. A silence descended the room. The air was empty, detached. _We were never like this, were we?_

"Tempe…" Booth suddenly spoke. She looked at him, surprised, and waiting.

"I…" he began. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been…easy. I don't know what's going on, where you came from, or if I believe this whole thing is even real myself…" he paused. "I just want to say that if, if it were possible, and we were partners…friends, even…well, I would have liked that very much. I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I can't believe you fully due to sanity reasons, I believe _in_ you. In another life maybe…I have the sense that we could have been partners, in a world not as shitty as this." He awkwardly folded his arms waiting for a response, for acceptance.

Brennan crossed the room without hesitating, and brought him into a surprise embrace.

"Thank you, Booth," she said quietly. "That's good enough for me."

The doors swung open, and Dr. Riley's assistant Jake walked in eagerly. He paused while Brennan broke the hug, her cheeks as well as Booth's flushing red. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he hinted seriously.

"Uh, no," Booth stumbled. He shot Brennan an eye-roll, and she smiled. He turned to Jake and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Number one, I'm the coroner's assistant, not you," Jake said with sarcasm, but lightened up as he finished, "and number two, I have a minor in geology and of such. I heard you guys needed some help from the conference room."

"Geology and mortuary sciences don't seem to go together," Booth prodded.

"Come on, who seriously says 'I want to grow up and devote my entire life and brain to dead people,'" Jake shrugged.

Brennan raised her hand unabashedly. "I did, in a sense."

Jake and Booth exchanged glances. Brennan sighed and said, "Moving back to more important matters, I collected samples of gravel at the post office and want to know if the gravel pieces are the same type and are of the same origin. It could lead more insight into where the murders took place, and where Epps' location is."

"Piece of cake," Jake boasted as he studied the gravel samples. After a few moments, he murmured, "Yeah…yes, definitely. It's of the same type—aggregate."

"That can be found anywhere and everywhere in the city," Booth pointed out.

"Yeah, but there are particles of pumice and vermiculite stuck on artificially…making it sticky," Jake added.

Brennan questioned, "Who would want to manually add natural formations on like that?"

Jake rolled his chair over to a computer. "If I am correct, this is the composite of gravel found surrounding the one salon chain in the city. This stuff is used for outlining the building, and if I did tests, I'm sure you'd find residue of paint. The pumices and added rocks are used for their puffy, water draining appearance. It's kinda of a useless, but poignant trademark for the place, since the gravel is painted bright pink." His fingers flew over the keyboard and brought up an image of De RoXi Hair Salon. The outside of the building was adorned with pink gravel.

Booth stared at him. "You frequent this place often or something?"

"No, but my girlfriend does. I'd have to run tests to see which of the 9 locations in D.C. were the origins of the gravel in front of me."

"Better yet," Brennan suggested, "Do a search of missing persons who have their residence near De RoXi. Justine Chase said she was led up a driveway that was sticky, blindfolded. Is it possible that some of the aggregate could have been moved onto a neighboring property?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't know who would want to," Jake said as he pulled up the database of missing persons. "This is a really long stretch," he admitted.

"It may work," Booth insisted quietly. Silent minutes passed. Several more agents ready to close in on a suspect, if necessary, filed into the morgue, as well as Deputy Director Saroyan.

"Agent Booth," she demanded, "when was it FBI protocol to not inform your superior about getting your brains nearly bashed in? You should be home, resting."

"Ma'am," Booth answered intensely as the computer finished its search, displaying only one result. "Injuries don't matter that much when a huge break in a case is made."

"A Rita Realsangre was reported missing several weeks ago who matches the approximate age of our Jane Doe…she lives right next to a De RoXi about ten minutes drive from here, at 124 West Adams Avenue. She might be your girl," Jake said excitedly.

"Any indicators to prove that," Saroyan questioned. "We can't go barging into a residence without a warrant, much less go interrogating without solid reasons."

"Missing persons report mentions that Rita had a broken left arm," Jake added. "Fell down the stairs…"

"Jane Doe's left arm suffered a fracture in the ulna, consisted with a fall," Brennan quickly confirmed. She turned back to the group, "I want to see if Rita's house is owned or if she's renting."

"Why?"

"Because in my professional opinion, if Rita rented, and the rent was paid, Epps' would be residing in her house and pay the rent as not to cause more suspicion than already surrounding her disappearance."

"Who reported Rita?" Booth asked, bouncing off of Brennan's ideas. "If it wasn't someone very close, if Rita didn't have family, that would be perfect for Epps."

Jake scanned the report, "An employer did. No family or close ties in D.C. Lists landlord and employer as contacts. Here's the number of the renter."

Booth squeezed Brennan's shoulder. "Looks like our luck has finally changed." He speedily dialed the landlord's number and moved to the corner of the room to discuss Rita's payments. Deputy Director Saroyan came to Brennan and steadily stated, "Ms. Brennan…I find myself at a loss. If you're right, and Epps is in that house…I believe I owe you greatly. I can offer you a permanent position as civilian consultant, and launch an investigation in the meantime to figure out how you came to know the things you do."

"No offense, but I think it's going to take a lot more than that to get things back to the way I think they should be," Brennan said gently. "But I understand now that people will take me seriously, here."

Saroyan smiled and held out her hand. "You are an unusual, if not sometimes, scary woman, albeit an unusual scary woman with new friends. You're welcome to work in unison with Booth until Epps is caught. I've noticed Booth seems to have a better grip on reality when you're around. How ironic is that?"

Brennan shook Saroyan's hand. "Very," Brennan admitted.

The newly formed pact heard Booth shout, "Yes!" as he hung up the phone. "Landlord says the rent was paid two days ago. Never knew Rita was missing in the first place. That bastard Epps is probably in that house! We need to go get him, now!"

Saroyan held up her hands. "Not so fast, Agent Booth. You need to stay here with Ms. Brennan. We'll send out our best agents to handle the situation. If Epps is indeed there, then they'll nail him."

Booth held onto a sudden spike of rage. "After all this, I deserve to be there to take him down!" Booth uttered.

"You're too close to this case. By all rights, I shouldn't have let you continue working on the case—"

Booth burst to his superior, "That was your own damned fault!"

Cam stood stiffly and motioned for Jake and the three agents to leave the room. They fled like Napoleon's French army, leaving only Booth, Brennan, and Saroyan. Brennan backed up towards the wall, leaving Booth to settle his argument with Saroyan alone.

"Booth, you need to stand down. The only reason why I let you is because there was no solid evidence supporting that Epps did what he did—"

"So let me finish this! I need to—"

"You need therapy Booth. I've held off this long; if Epps is taken down tonight, you're taking a vacation. Understood? Plus, you're concussed."

Booth practically shook with fury, and Saroyan softened up. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be human again, Booth. Grieve. It's okay." She removed her hand, and Booth became very still. Brennan bit her lower lip, sensing something wrong.

"I understand," Booth said robotically. "Just call me as soon as you find out if we're right."

"Of course. I'll be there, with a sea of agents," Saroyan promised. She left the room, calling in for agents, SWAT, and D.C. police. Booth turned and punched the wall multiple times before swearing a string of profanities. Brennan let him.

"I should be there," he grit out. Brennan remained silent as Jack Hodgins burst in.

"Are you staying behind?" he asked cautiously.

Booth nodded jerkily. "Good," Hodgins commented. Booth punched the wall once more and Hodgins added dryly, "Dude, I don't care how pissed you get, I agree with Saroyan. You know in your heart it's the best decision." He took Booth's arm and promised, "25 minutes. This thing is going to end tonight. It's in my gut man."

Booth was having trouble forming words, and Brennan noticed, it was resulting in reddening eyes and complete lapse of control over his emotions. "I should be there, Jack," he repeated. "I should be there."

"To do what?" Brennan finally spoke.

"To kill him, Tempe. To make him hurt as much as he hurt my boy," he heaved. Hodgins shot Brennan a curious stare, with an unspoken plead. _Watch him. Don't let him do anything stupid. _Brennan nodded as Hodgins checked his watch.

"We need to have a sit down and talk when I get back," Hodgins begged of his best friend and partner. "I have to go with Saroyan…please, promise me, you'll stay here. You're not stable. You're giving me an ulcer here, man. Promise me."

Booth turned away and faced the wall. "You better get going," he breathed shakily. Hodgins stared after him, torn between possibly arresting the worst serial killer in the nation's history, and being there for his partner and friend. He locked eyes with Brennan, and she called out, "Go. I know what I need to do." Hodgins nodded uncertainly, but thankfully and left Brennan alone with Booth.

The minute hand on the wall clock finished a full revolution before Brennan made a move. As soon as she stepped forward, she stated as gently as she could, "You're not thinking straight. Your brains must have been rattled when Epps hit you; no matter how evil that bastard is; you can't go kill him. It's revenge, Booth. You don't do revenge—"

"If I were to leave right now, by myself, I could beat Saroyan's team to the site. She's got to get SWAT and other forces together. By a good 5, maybe even 10 minutes," Booth stated mysteriously…calmly.

"But you're not going to do that—" Brennan insisted.

Booth pulled out his weapon and aimed it at Brennan. "I'm sorry. I need to do this."

"You're not going to shoot me," Brennan said flatly. She felt as if she should have been furious, indignant, even frightened that her once friend and partner was pointing a gun leveled at her chest. He risked his life in the past to save hers; she should have felt betrayed, even if this wasn't the world she was used to. Instead, she felt a great sadness. She realized then that the ache in her heart was grief; she was mourning for the past, and for Booth.

"I'm not stable, remember?" Booth pointed out. He actually chuckled, and Brennan's heart broke even more. This had been the final push over the edge…_and I thought I was bringing him back…_

He sobered immediately. "I'd like not to. I hope after this is all over, you can find a way to forgive me. Get on the floor, lay down. That's all I want you to do. I'm going to lock the door on my way out. It'll automatically unlock itself after 3 minutes, without Riley's master password to shut the place up for good. It's supposed to keep people who accidentally get locked in from freezing when there aren't procedures going on…"

"So you can get a head start to your car," Brennan concluded, breaking off his rambling and reasoning.

"I don't care if you get help after this; I'll already be gone. I'm sorry, Tempe, I really am," he apologized.

_You know what you need to do._

_To end this all._

Slowly, she lowered her body to the ground and listened as Booth backed out of the room. The door shut, followed by a beep and a latch from the outside.

_Three minutes._

_You know what you need to do._

* * *

Feet pounding. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Arms pumping.

Sprinting.

Brennan hadn't bothered calling for help, or waste the time trying to find a car. Instead, she was running. Running without pain, running like her lungs were able to hold the world. Since she knew she could feel no pain, she pushed her body to the limits. She was minutes away from the house where Booth had sped to minutes earlier; Saroyan would follow soon after. They might pass her in a matter of seconds. Booth might have killed Epps already. Epps might not have even been there. Booth could very well be dead as well. Saroyan or Hodgins might have caught him.

But Brennan needed to try. She knew what she needed to do.

If this was reality…then so be it. Her past, or what she thought her life was; it didn't matter. The _here _she had come to know was gone. Only the now, the sidewalks under her feet and the moonless sky above her head existed. The world she was in at this moment was so much more worse than the life she had, the life she essentially lost, but she had the power to change it; this much she knew. This she felt in her heart and head, and more importantly, her bones.

And then maybe…just maybe…

She could go home again.


	13. Promises To Keep

* * *

AN: This is the end, beautiful friend.

**Chapter Thirteen: Promises to Keep**

The darkened house appeared sinister in contrast to the neighboring flashy and well-lighted hair salon, De RoXi. While loading the chambers in his gun, Booth duly noted that some of the outlandish decorated rocks had spread out to parts of Rita Realsangre's own driveway. Brennan's extreme jumps were accurate after all: and within those walls….

_Click._

Booth switched the safety off. He no longer felt gnawing guilt for pulling a gun on Brennan. The ends justify the means, and the outcome of the next five minutes would determine everything Booth had left. Not bothering to scout the house for movement or traps, Booth threw open his car door and stormed across the street. Sirens sounded off in the distance, but he knew the screaming wails would be silenced as the cavalry neared the domicile, as to not alert Epps. Calling forth training from the Army, Booth ducked down and ran up to the side of the house, careful to remain on the grass and not the gravel. Glancing in the window, he saw complete darkness. Booth spotted a thin crack of yellow light creep from under a closed door, on the far left of the house. He quickly abandoned his position at the window and came around to the front door, his weapon drawn. He checked the doorknob, and was not surprised to find it locked. As he readied himself to kick the door down, he paused for a moment. A surge of memories from the crime scenes and victims enforced Booth's need to cause Epps as much pain as possible.

_The first victim…found in a puddle of her own blood and paints…_

_Jon Leavitt cradling his wife's bound body behind an alleyway dumpster. Booth had to pull him away forcefully._

_Epps sending coy messages… "How'd it feel, Agent Booth, to tear Mr. Leavitt from Mary's rigid, stinking corpse?"_

_Parker laughing, Parker playing, Parker's birth, Parker's funeral, his little, broken body and Booth clutching him to his chest as his partner Hodgins tried to pull him away…_

CRASH!

Booth kicked the door down in a tidal wave of fury. Light spilled out into the living room as the door on the opposite end of the house also flew open, with Epps stepping out from the bedroom and holding a crowbar in surprise. Booth aimed low and pulled the trigger of the gun. A deafening crack split the air and Epps cried out in pain as a bullet pierced his leg.

"Think you're so smart, Howie?" Booth taunted. "You didn't think we'd find you? That you decided to camp out in your victims' houses? Think again, dumbass!"

Epps managed to switch the lights on in the living room. Clutching his leg and the crowbar, unfeeling brown eyes leered at Booth. Though Booth had seen Howard Epps in photos nearly a thousand times, he was struck at how _normal_ he looked. Standing a few inches shorter than Booth with tawny blonde hair and a lean body, he could easily become another face in the crowd. _Every crowd has a monster; here ya go, folks. _No one would have guessed the atrocities that lay at this man's hands.

But Booth knew firsthand.

And that was Epps biggest mistake to date.

Booth fired his gun again to the wall, several inches away from Epps' head. Epps flinched and sank to the floor. Instead of cowering, he started laughing. "I believe that was a miss, Agent Booth."

Booth shut the door behind him quietly. "In about five minutes the rest of the team will be here. You're done, Howie." Booth sauntered over to Epps, suddenly calm and in control. Epps matched his attitude, though there were the beginnings of fear creeping into his eyes.

"When did you turn rogue agent?" Epps mused. He paused, and then added, "You aim to kill me before they get here."

Booth snorted. "No wonder why they called you a genius." Booth came to Epps and without warning, stomped on Epps' gunshot wound. Epps hissed and choked back a scream. He dropped the crowbar and Booth kicked it away.

"Go ahead, then, kill me!" Epps still taunted. "I die, and your little Parker magically appears and gives you a big hug and yells 'Daddy! Daddy! I'm home,' and everything's perfect again. Is that what you want?"

Booth pistol-whipped Epps on the side of the head and screamed, "Don't you ever, _ever_ say his name again!"

Epps grunted in pain, but still threw out, "He cried and pissed his pants and screamed bloody murder for his father, but you never came! He handled the cigarette burns okay, but boy, he absolutely hated the cutting—"

Booth thought he could feel something physically snap within his brain and he launched himself unto Epps as a black mass of a fury claimed his actions. Booth was beating Epps' face and stomach as hard as he could manage, and an almost inhuman cry escaped his lips as he poured all his grief and rage into his fists. He dropped the gun in the process, but didn't care as Epps made feeble attempts to block the pounding sledgehammers.

Booth stopped and threw Epps back against the wall. "You're going to die the same way Parker did," he spoke quietly. Scarily. Booth began pulling a switchblade that was kept hidden under his pant leg. Epps took the moment of relief and shoved Booth back with a surprising amount of force. He only stumbled back a few inches, but it was all the leave way Epps needed. He threw himself onto Booth and reached for the gun that had fallen earlier. Booth saw this and flipped him onto his back and grabbed the gun from Epps' reaching grasp. Booth glanced at the clock and swore forcefully. Saroyan and Hodgins and every SWAT member on God's green earth would be at the house within two minutes, at the most.

"We're gonna cut this short, Howie," Booth panted. He raised the gun and aimed it between Epps's eyes. "He was just a kid. He was my boy, my son…" he felt tears running down his face, and he didn't care if Epps was taking satisfaction from them.

"He was just a kid…."

Booth began to pull the trigger and Epps stared hauntingly up. Suddenly, the door burst open and a single voice screamed, "Booth! NO!" He turned in shock to find Brennan, alone.

* * *

_"He was just a kid…"_

She could hear Booth utter those words just before she threw herself against the door. Now that she had stopped sprinting, she could feel an underlying pulling within her lungs and heart. She supposed that if she could feel pain, she would be suffering a heart attack. What she saw however, nearly did execute that thought. A crying Booth was standing over a bloodied, defeated Epps. Brennan followed Booth's shaking arm and found the gun milliseconds away from being fired.

"What are you doing here? Where are the others?" Booth demanded dazedly.

"They'll be here soon," Brennan answered as she took cautious steps toward Booth. "I ran here."

Booth's eyes rose in disbelief, but then he added, "If you told me you were Princess Diana in whatever world you came from, I suppose I'd believe that, too. You're a freak, but I say that in a non-offensive way. Now if you excuse me, I have to exterminate Hell's vomit, thank you."

Brennan threw out, "Exterminate? You mean cold-blooded murder. Exterminate sounds so much better, doesn't it?"

Booth became very still. Brennan continued to make her way toward Booth, and saw that in three more steps, she'd be at his side. It was like trying to comfort a jumper on the Empire State Building. One step at a time, one careful breath at a moment.

"You saw what he did. You fucking know it firsthand, Brennan—he tortured and killed my son!" Booth barked sharply. "I don't understand how you can stand there and try making me back down when you know damn well what I need to do to end this!" he screamed.

"So why haven't you shot him yet?" Brennan pointed out, unflinchingly. _Step. _"This isn't who you are, and you know it!"

"You know who I am, and some of the things that have happened to me, but that does not qualify as you knowing who I really am, and you know that!" Booth retorted.

_Step. _

"You kill him," Brennan motioned to the weakened Epps, who was snickering through the entire exchange, and finished, "then you'll be just like him. How would Parker feel about that? Or Hodgins—"

"I don't care! I don't care if I become worse than this scum. I don't care! What makes you think I wasn't going to eat a bullet after this anyway! I don't care about anything anymore!" Booth cried out as pain gripped his heart once again.

Brennan felt tears slip from her eyes.

_Step._

"But I still do."

A low sigh escaped Booth's lips and he began to shake his head sadly. He began to pull the trigger once more. Brennan reacted immediately and threw a roundhouse punch to his jaw. _I'm so sorry Booth. I have promises to keep. _She caught him from falling and pulled him forward, off balance. She heard sirens at the far end of the street and knew she was running out of time. Booth heard them too, before the drivers cut the alarms. _Not yet! _Brennan pleaded frantically. She swept her leg under Booth's and he landed on the floor with a hard thud. As he scrambled to get up, she threw her leg onto the wrist still clutching the gun. She heard a crunch and he yelled as the bones under his skin cracked. She grabbed the gun from his hand. During the meantime, Epps had gotten to his feet and was limping toward the door.

"Epps!" she screamed.

He turned and she raised the gun.

Fear gripped Epps and he started to shout, "The hell you won't! You won't—"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

She pulled the trigger and watched with detached efficiency as Epps stumbled out the door and collapsed on the stairs. She lowered the gun and watched the blood pool from under his back and on his chest. Dropping the gun to the floor she turned from the body and breathed heavily.

It was all over.

Booth's mouth was opened in shock as he brought himself off the floor. Epps lay unmoving. Dead. The weight of her actions finally fell onto her shoulders and she felt incredibly tired. Old, even. Booth pulled her toward him with his good arm, and shook her furiously.

"Why did you do that! WHY? I was supposed…it was my burden!" he bellowed.

She whispered, "Because I do know who you are, and because I still care."

His shakes became less violent, and the realization that this whole thing really was over set in. He choked out incomprehensible words and fell to his knees. He hugged Brennan tightly, and wept openly.

And she knew at that moment, that she had kept her promise: she kept Booth off that dark path of revenge and everlasting pain and rage. He could get better now. He could be human; he could be her Booth again.

The way things were supposed to be.

That was when the pain finally started.

"My head…" she said breathlessly. She slumped to her knees, and Booth caught her, in confusion.

"What's happening…" he trailed off, caught in the sudden change. He heard voices and car doors slamming outside the house, but he ignored them. Brennan lifted her hand to her head and pulled back. Bright red blood covered her palm and fingers.

Booth laid her on the floor and cradled her relaxed body.

"Where did this come from…what happened?" he asked as he took his shirt off and pressed it to her bleeding skull.

"It hurts," she whimpered. "Can't breathe…"

Panic tightened Booth's nerves. "Okay, just hang on. Saroyan and the rest are outside…pain means you're alive, okay? Hang in there."

"I want to go home…" Brennan gripped his hand. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

Sensations intensified. She could smell the coppery blood that now matted the entire one side of her head and hair. She could feel Booth's pulse through his fingers. Then, just as fast as the pain came, the world began to fade to black.

"Tempe!"

Voices cluttered the space in her head.

"_Tempe!"_

She wanted to go home. Where it was a far better place than here.

_Brennan!_

All she heard now was Booth. What was going to happen to him?

_Brennan! _

It didn't matter. Epps was gone. She really had made a difference, but she wanted to stay. It couldn't end like this…

_I want to go home._

Then out of the darkness, she heard his voice one last time before losing all sense of that place.

"_Bones!"_

* * *

"Bones! Open your eyes, I know you can hear me!"

"Jack…" someone sobbed.

"The ambulance is coming…"

Brennan felt sun on her face. She could feel her chest moving up and down in slow, yet steady beats. Even before opening her eyes, she knew Booth was there, holding her head… that was throbbing and stinging intensely.

"Bones…" she heard Booth plead. "Come on babe, don't you dare crap out on me. Not like this…"

_He called me Bones. _

With some difficulty, Brennan pried her eyes open. A collective sigh of relief came forth from the group hovering over her. She saw Booth whisper a quick prayer and he hugged her. Kneeling at his side was Angela; Hodgins was beside her and Dr. Saroyan was on the phone, making sure the paramedics were coming. Zach looked stunned.

"I'm back…." she whispered in shock. _How did this happen? I didn't think it was possible…the more important question was this: where did I go in the beginning?_

Booth, completely unaware of Brennan's confusion, answered, "We're not out of the woods yet, Bones. This is very important: you need to stay awake."

As soon as he issued the command, Brennan felt the insane urge to sleep hours and hours.

"Booth…" she said. "I don't know…" She closed her eyes again.

"Hey!" Booth barked. Her eyes snapped open. "Say it after me: I need to stay awake." He was smiling in assurance, but she could tell it was strained.

"I need to stay awake," she repeated wearily. That's when she noticed that Booth's shirt was gone; he had a beater on instead.

Almost stupidly she asked, "Where's your shirt?"

He gave her another forced smile. "Against your head. I'm trying to staunch the bleeding."

She acknowledged the pressure on the side of her head, and saw blood on the cement ground below her. Blood also stained Angela's hands. "Stay awake, Sweetie," Angela commanded gently.

"What happened?" Brennan whispered.

"One of the yahoos working on the roof dropped a hammer. It hit you in the head," Hodgins answered. "Stay conscious," he added.

"Believe me…" Brennan sighed quietly as the ambulance rolled up. "I'd rather remain here; not back there…ever again."

"Back where, Bren?" Angela asked.

Brennan would have giggled like a schoolgirl if she weren't on the verge of relapsing into unconsciousness. Instead, she answered, "Back where I was a wedding planner."

* * *

"Look at what I've got for you…"

Brennan glanced up from her hospital bed, and saw Booth in the doorway, looking much more relieved than when he was tending to her on the sidewalk hours ago. She smiled as he waved a Hershey's chocolate bar in his hand.

"I was hoping it would be a ticket out of here, but that will do."

He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Another inch and you would have been dead. That would have been a pisser of a headline: **WORLD REKNOWN ANTHROPOLOGIST KILLED BY FALLING HAMMER**. I'd have to cast my vote to the doctors and medical staff that want to keep you one night for observation. How are you feeing now?" he asked seriously.

She stared at him thoughtfully. The world where she had spent several days in felt more and more like a dream with every passing second. How was she feeling? Considering that Epps was still dead, Booth was not homicidal/suicidal, and Angela was alive…she was feeling fantastic, to say the least.

_When did you get a sense of humor?_

She answered finally, "Hungry."

Booth gave her the candy bar and added, "I guess that's good enough for me. Maybe not for Angela and the others when they come back again tonight, though."

"Hmm."

He looked at her thoughtfully and asked, "What was that whole bit about being a wedding planner?"

"I…" she paused uncomfortably. "I guess when I was unconscious from the initial shock of the hammer, I had a dream where I was a wedding planner and Epps was still alive…" she trailed off. _I can't tell him all of it. It's too…dark. Too sad. _

"Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz?" Booth asked.

Brennan nodded. "I know what that means," she smiled. "It was just a very vivid experience…dream…doppelganger…I don't know what to call it. Epps died at the end, so it was okay."

_Huge understatement._

"Well, while you were off in la la land, I thought I was having a heart attack. We all heard the shout from the construction workers, but I was the first to see you get hit. Don't you ever scare me like that again," Booth breathed out.

"Right, because I willingly wanted to be hospitalized," Brennan pointed out.

Booth studied her face. "Don't scare me again. People need you here."

Brennan didn't answer him immediately. _Maybe one day I could tell him all of it…there was something in all of that, and he just touched on it. Do people need me? I understand that now, that the answer is yes…so why do I still feel that people are wrong to think that? _Her mind traveled back to when the accident happened. It seemed so far away thanks to the adventures her mind played out during the few minutes she had blacked out from the hammer impact. She felt so tired, so put-off by her work, the very same work in which she put every bit of her life and soul into. That feeling had since lifted, knowing what the world could be like if she and Booth didn't do what they did…but what of it came back?

"What are you thinking right now?" Booth asked gently.

"Do you…do you ever feel like you're burning out?" Brennan said bluntly.

She was surprised at how quickly he answered. "Yeah. All of us do at one point in time. Why?"

"Because that was how I was feeling earlier," Brennan admitted. "Think about it: does what we do really matter? Truly. People die. Human beings are capable of such horrors…we pick up the pieces, we don't stop these murders from happening—"

"Sometimes we do," Booth corrected her. "You know better."

"But does it matter? Who's not to say the people we saved get murdered by thieves or a drunk driver later in life?"

"Okay, Miss Cynical, I understand that, but we—"

"And so what about justice? There are others like us toiling away, hoping for some better good, but there are always murders, and there will always be grief and pain. We can't stop it Booth, we never will. What if I start burning out again?" Brennan finished. Her head started to pound again, and she closed her eyes.

Booth mulled her outburst over, and then answered carefully, "To answer the latter part of all that, it's called taking a vacation. If you feel like you're burning out, you need to walk away from it for a little. No one will hold you against it. Hell, look at Sully. The guy's the most sane of us all."

Brennan grimaced. "I'm okay now…Sully. I saw him before I got hit."

"Huh?"

"He was kissing someone else across the street. Very passionately," Brennan said coldly. I should have gone with him when he asked me, then I wouldn't have driven him away to some…bimbo."

Booth actually guffawed, and Brennan crossed her arms rigidly. "I'm glad to see you take joy out of my relationship problems."

"I'm laughing because Sully was never there. I called him earlier: it was a bitch to find him, but I let him know what happened to you. He's getting on a plane tomorrow and coming here. When you walked out Bones, you were hit right away. There was no time for you to even think you saw him across the street," Booth explained.

Brennan blinked twice. "Oh."

"Maybe that was your subconscious telling you something about your feelings toward the guy. Want to talk to a shrink?" Booth joked lightly.

Brennan sighed and said, "Call him back. Tell him I'm okay. It's not like I'm dying. I don't need to see him."

"It took me a good 3 hours to get a hold of him—"

"Please, Booth…what we had was over…I don't need to see him, okay?" Brennan asked.

"You're a pain in the ass, I hope you know that," he pointed out.

Brennan took his hand. "Thanks, Booth."

"For calling you a pain in the ass?"

"You know why."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, back to serious things." He squeezed Brennan's hand before letting go. How she had missed all of this.

"You're right about all that," he began. "The people we do save may not be saved tomorrow. There will always be evil sons of bitches out there, and even if you were a wedding planner and I was Bob Parker, there are others out there to continue to do our jobs. So what is special about us? I don't know."

Brennan turned her head. "You don't know?"

"No. What I do know is that there is a balance that we cannot change: between the murders and crime and heartache and the other half—the happy, unbroken lives. We battle against the darker side of that scale to show how the world can be. How it is supposed to be. We help keep the balance. If every one of us walked away, God help us all. The world would be so much worse. It needs all the help it can get. _The world needs you here._ And that's enough for me," Booth finished quietly.

"Promises to keep," Brennan murmured. For one moment, things just made sense. Even what happened in her "dream." She still had the fight in her: it was time to continue riding the wave.

"And miles to go before we sleep," Booth ended the conversation.

_And that's good enough for me. _

* * *

AN: If you were confused, the first chapter should help you out. Thanks for sticking with me through the erratic postings and thank you for understanding why.

I'm not burning out. I promise.


End file.
